


Sally Meets Harry

by MaryFlanner



Category: Glee
Genre: AU, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-22
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-10-09 08:33:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,241
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10408158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaryFlanner/pseuds/MaryFlanner
Summary: What if Blaine fell for Kurt first?





	

_ This is a story about choices.  It’s about how little things become big things, how every decision we make has consequences we could never imagine.  It’s about making mistakes, making up your mind, and making the most of it. _

 

_ This is also a story about fate.  About the way that life is like a labyrinth, and although every choice you make sends you on a different path, you’re always going to end in the center. _

 

**Prologue: Theatricality**

  
  


“Finn, honey?  Can we talk?”

 

~*~

 

“Kurt?  Have a seat.”

 

~*~

 

“What?” sputters Finn.  “No!  We’re not-- we can’t just  _ move _ .”

 

“Finn, I thought you were over--”

 

“No, mom, it’s not about that,” Finn says, pacing.  “It’s not about Dad, it’s about...I’m just not ready to just...move, you know?”

 

Carole continues looking at him, concerned, trying to understand.

 

“Listen,” he says, taking her hands.  “I want to be happy more than anything in the whole world... and I’m so happy you and Burt found each other.  I love him too.  I just...I need a little more time to get used to things.”

 

Carole’s eyes shine on unshed tears and she pulls him close.  “Okay,” she says.  “It’s okay, I understand.  But...well...”

 

“Someday, yeah,” says Finn.  “I really hope it does happen someday.”

 

~*~

 

“Oh my god!  Oh my god, Dad!  Dad that’s wonderful!  Oh my god, I can’t wait to--”

 

Burt grins and puts a restraining hand on his son’s bouncing shoulder.  “Now wait a sec, Kurt.  Don’t go getting all excited yet.  Carole’s still got to talk it over with Finn.”

 

Kurt waves a dismissive hand.  “Oh, he’ll be fine.  He wants Carole to be happy just as much as I want  _ you _ to be happy.”

 

Burt softens, as always.  “Well, there’s one more thing.  You know the guest room still has that mold problem, and we’re going to have to tear out the walls to fix it up.  So, until then...you’re going to have to share your room.”

 

Kurt’s face pales and he falls numbly against the chair.  “You’re kidding,” he breathes, incredulous, breathing shallow, hands shaking.  “That’s...that’s... _ amazing _ .”

 

~*~

 

Dinner that night begins tense as Burt and Carole avoid each other’s eyes over salads and breadsticks.  

 

“Burt, I--”   
  


“Carole, we--” they begin at once.  The both laugh and Burt gestures toward her.  “Ladies first.”

 

Carole takes a deep breath.  “Burt?  I love you.  I really, really do.  But...well...maybe this is going a little fast.  I talked to Finn, and he’s...he’s just not ready.”

 

Burt’s shoulders sag in relief.  “I think you’re absolutely right.  I talked to Kurt and...well, it’s not the right time for him, either.”

 

Carole smiles sympathetically.  “His mom?  He’s not ready to see me in her space?”

 

Burt chuckles a little to himself, embarrassed.  “Ah, no, not that.  He’s...actually he was all aboard for you guys moving in.   _ Too _ on board.”  Carole’s eyebrows raise knowingly and he sighs.  “He’s always taken care of things...been so independent and so adult.  Sometimes I just forget, you know?  That he’s a kid.  A  _ teenager _ .”

 

Silence hang between them for a moment, until Carole, unexpectedly, brings her hand to her mouth to smother giggles.  Burt looks puzzled, but catches it, grinning as he asks, “What’s so funny?”

 

Carole laughs, full and open now.  “God, why are we so  _ stupid _ ?  I mean...look at us.  Look at  _ them _ .  If I were dating someone with a  _ daughter _ we wouldn’t shove them in a room together, would we?”

 

“Hey now,” Burt says, mock offended.  “My Kurt’s no little girl.”

 

Carole rolls her eyes.  “Oh, come on.  You know what I mean.  After all, who  _ wouldn’t _ have a thing for my Finn?”

 

Burt crosses his arms and leans back, still smiling.  “Yeah, well, your Finn could do a hell of a lot worse than my Kurt.”

 

“Oh, believe me, he  _ has, _ ” Carole gasps before collapsing into fresh peals of laughter.  When it dies down, Carole wipes her eyes on her napkin and reaches for Burt’s hand.

 

“You know what?” she says.  “We can do this right.  Let’s start looking for a bigger place--together.  One where we can all start over.  It’ll give the boys more time to get used to things.  Because as handsome as he is, I’m not sure  _ any _ crush could stand up to Finn in the summer after a week in the same shorts.”

 

Burt nods.  “What’s a smart lady like you doing with a dumbass like me?” he asks fondly.

 

Carole shrugs.  “I’ve always had a soft spot for big lugs.”

 

~*~

 

At McKinley High School, Tina’s bubbles shatter from the force of Kurt--her shield, her protector--being thrown back and pinning her to the wall.  She wiggles out from behind him, clenches one arm around his back as he sinks, prays that they wouldn’t  _ really _ hit a girl.

 

The next day, Finn Hudson feels a clench in his stomach as Kurt and Tina walk into the choir room, hand in hand.  He cuffs Kurt on the shoulder and says guiltily, “Nice shiner.  Makes you look...tough.”

 

Kurt’s silent, wary smile makes him think he’s actually going to be sick.

 

Because behind the fear, there was gratitude.

**Never Been Kissed**

In the clear light through the rose window of the Dalton main stairway, Blaine Anderson has never felt better.  Skipping down the stairs, he checks his watch.  His timing is perfect.  He should walk through the double doors of the senior commons at the  _ exact _ moment the last of the Warblers has assembled in line and the last of the students have filed in.  He’s running through in his mind, visualizing the perfect performance, just enough playfulness to keep it fun, not so much that it’s mocking.

“Excuse me.”

Blaine’s impeccable manners take over and he turns without thinking.

If he though he felt good before...he’d had no idea what “good” felt like.

It’s all he can do to spit out his name.

In the second it takes to shake hands, to hear the question, “what’s going on here?” Blaine gets himself together, and dredges up every last ounce of his considerable charm.

“So...the Glee club here is kind of cool?” the (pretty pretty pretty) boy asks, incredulous, with a back note of barely contained excitement.

Blaine absolutely cannot believe his luck.  It’s like heaven opened and said “Hey, you know what? You get a break.  Here.  Have it.  You just step right into this one, okay?”

“They’re like rock stars,” he answers, knowing he’s being arrogant, knowing that has a peculiar draw for a certain kind of young man.  Suspecting  _ this _ young man is one of that type.

It is, quite possibly, the cheesiest thing he’s ever done.  And really, that’s saying something.  He meets a strange boy on the stairs, takes his hand, frolics down the hallway,  _ winks _ at him, sings a dirty, dirty song right at him.  And unless his gaydar is broken beyond all hope of repair, this is going  _ fan-freaking-tastic _ .  Because this guy is smiling like he’s died and gone to Broadway, like watching a group of boys in polyester uniforms do-wop pop songs is  _ the best thing _ he’s ever seen in his life.  He can’t stop staring.

And neither can Blaine.

All through the song ( _ Let you put your hands on me-- _ ”I will,” he thinks, “I really will”), when he’s swarmed by his classmates after (and at this point, he doesn’t even  _ try _ to hide it), even when the commons has cleared, he seeks Kurt out, stops him as he flees through the main hall, breathless.  “New Kid,” he calls, grabbing his wrist.  “See you tomorrow?  Maybe we can get you some coffee.  We, um, the Warblers we.  We want to talk to you.”

Kurt blanches, but nods.  “Okay.  Um...sure.  Okay.  Tomorrow.”

Blaine watches him go and smiles so hard his face hurts.

~*~

“ _ Clearly _ a spy.”

“ _ Clearly _ .”

“So what do we do?  Anybody know where he’s from?”

“Well, he’s under seventy, so he’s either Aural Intensity or New Directions.”

Blaine’s chewing in his pen cap, frowning down at his knees, listening.

“Well, we can’t just let it slide.  I mean, we should--”

“We should talk to him,” Blaine interjects.  The room silences, all eyes on him.  “We...we should talk to him.  I, uh...I actually already invited him back.  To talk.”

Wes slowly raises an eyebrow.  “Warbler Blaine?  Would you care to explain  _ why _ ?”

“Yeah, I thought you liked blonds,” someone mutters--probably Stacy, he’s kind of a dick.

Blaine ignores it ( _ this time _ ) and stands, in full professional mode and addresses the council.  “Warblers.  As the most visible representatives of Dalton Academy, it is our responsibility--no, our  _ duty _ \--to carry forth the high standards of excellence and conduct this great institution stands for.”  He turns, then, to face the room.  “Gentlemen--if we wish to bear that title-- _ gentlemen _ \--then we must  _ earn  _ it.  What greater opportunity than this, to extol those highest Dalton virtues of Compassion, Honor, and Forthrightness?”

There’s a low murmur in the room, as each considers.

“And,” Blaine continues, surprising even himself.  “You guys?  He wasn’t even  _ trying  _ to fit in.  I think...I think he  _ wanted _ to get caught.”  It’s then that the room stills and he sees a change in so many eyes.  David, driven out of his school in a hail of racial epithets.  Mandeep, whose family’s house was spray-painted with the word “terrorist.”  John, who won’t even  _ say _ why he came, but everyone suspects has to do with swarm of smiling Mormon brothers and sisters that follow him to every performance.

Wes, at last, breaks the silence.  “Senior Warbler David and I will accompany you, Blaine.  I think we can show him what Dalton is made of.”

~*~

If he was lovely before--awed and smiling and a little giddy--his naked vulnerability, his voice high and soft and a little broken is  _ beautiful _ .  Blaine never really thought of a guy that way.  Beautiful.  But he is.

Blaine dismisses the other two Warblers, hopes Kurt will just talk.  He does.

“I’m the only person at my school that’s out of the closet.  And I try to stay strong about it...but there’s this...Neanderthal that’s made it his mission to make my life a living hell.  And nobody seems to notice.  His friend...his friend, um...he hit me last year--” Blaine’s stomach tightens hard and remembers in a flash the feeling of his arm scraping hard across dirty pavement, the soft ‘pop’ of his jaw  “--and that seemed to satisfy him.He doesn’t say anything to me anymore.  But the other one...he just keeps  _ tormenting _ me.  He hasn’t hit me yet...and I don’t think he will because he would have  _ then _ , but...I don’t know.”

It’s like he’s fourteen again.  Fourteen and afraid and alone and hurt and, for the first time in his  _ life _ he can actually imagine someone knowing how he feels.  He thinks he sees those same regrets in Kurt’s eyes.

“I know how you feel,” he says.  “I got taunted at my old school...” he pauses, and in a moment of terrifying vulnerability, he keeps going--past ‘teased,’ past ‘taunted,’ past, even ‘harassed.’  “My...my first date...” he laughs nervously.  “Um.  My first date ended with eight stitches instead of a good night kiss.”  Kurt’s eyes soften in compassion.  Blaine sees his fingers twitch forward, just a little, as though to take his hand, but Kurt quickly snatches them back and folds his hands together.  “Even after that, you could just tell, nobody really cared.  It was like, ‘hey, if you’re gay, you’re life’s just going to be miserable.  Sorry.’ So I left.  I came here.  Simple as that.”

Kurt’s not looking at him anymore.  His eyes have gone distant and an edge of determination has crept into his face.  Blaine sees a strength he wishes he had there.

“Honestly?  I wish I could tell you to just come enroll here.  But tuition at Dalton is kind of steep, and I know that’s not an option for everybody.  Or,” Blaine takes a deep breath.  “You can refuse to be the victim.  I wish--” Blaine swallows hard, closes his eyes.  “I wish  _ every single day  _ that I’d have fought back.  But I left.  And that means I left my friend to fight alone.  Kurt, I know you’re the only one who’s out of the closet at your school.  But that doesn’t mean you’re the only one that’s gay.”

Kurt’s staring at him, clear and open and as vulnerable as Blaine feels right now.  “How do I do that?” he asks.

“Confront them,” Blaine says passionately.  “Call them out.  I ran, Kurt.  I let bullies chase me away.  And that is something I really, really regret.”

“I see,” Kurt says softly.  “Thank you.  I...”  Kurt’s voice catches again, and as he rubs his thumb over his own hand, Blaine wants to be the one making that gesture of comfort for him.

“Give me your phone,” he says, instead.  He calls himself and hands Kurt’s phone back.  “You’re not doing this alone, okay?  I’ll be here.”

The next day, Blaine sits with shaking hands in Calculus and nervously types out “Courage.”

~*~

He hasn’t had a good night’s sleep in two days.  So it’s a small wonder that when Kurt said he’d never been kissed before the disaster with the jock, Blaine had the presence of mind to bite his lips and  _ not _ pull him close for something he hoped would be so much better.

Not yet, anyway.

The first night was filled with thoughts of soft lips, a lithe body, ocean water eyes, strong pale hands, a gentle voice.  He played the day over and over in his head, imagined them together and felt giddy.  Giddy because the boy was lovely.  More giddy because the boy  _ understood _ .

But the next night was different. His heart leaped in joy as his phone rang and the screen lit up “Kurt :D” and he answered with a foolish grin.  As he listened to Kurt rage tremulously, Blaine’s stomach sank and he felt his skin tighten.  He spent that night, heart racing, vacillating among anger for himself for telling Kurt to  _ fight _ , disgust for what that  _ ape  _ had done to him, and pure, unreasoning jealousy over the fact that this fucking cretin got to kiss Kurt before he did.

He’d been all smooth confidence during the confrontation.  Had played the Dalton Man to the hilt, said all the right things, cooly ignored his growing panic as the bully shoved him against the fence.

But now, in his car, back from a lunch full of wide-eyed revelations (“Oh my god!  I know  _ every word _ of that movie!”) and gentle snark to take the edge off how much all this really hurts, Blaine’s reached the end of his admittedly weak ability to delay gratification.

“So...Kurt,” he starts and then just drifts off.

“So Blaine,” Kurt says wryly.

“Do you want...um.  Can we maybe hang out again?”

Kurt smiles.  “Yeah.  I’d really like that.”

Blaine feels relief and joy flood him.  “Cool!  I’ll call you, okay?  Or you can call me tonight.  Let me know how the rest of your day went?  I mean, if things were okay...with him.”

Kurt nods.  “I will.  Thank you.  Again.”  Blaine reaches between the seats and takes Kurt’s hand.

“It’s nothing” he says, softer than he intends.  “It’s really, really nothing.”

Their eyes catch and hold, and every bit of nervousness Blaine felt a moment before comes back again as he feels the moment tense and grow.  Kurt’s cheeks are tinting pink a little and Blaine hadn’t even noticed how close they’d gotten, until he’s closing his eyes, tipping in, feeling and smelling Kurt’s breath against his lips and--

“Blaine,” Kurt says quietly, turning aside.  “We just met  _ yesterday _ .”

Blaine jumps back, hot with humiliation.  “God, I’m sorry, I--”

“No, it’s fine, I just--”

“Kurt, really, I’m...yeah.  That was a little much.”

He smiles.  “Maybe a little.  And anyway, I...”  Kurt gnaws his lips and twists his fingers together uncomfortably.  “There’s somebody I like.”

Blaine closes his eyes, facing forward, gripping the steering wheel with both hands.  “Oh.  Oh wow.  I guess I just assumed...”

Kurt sighs.  “He’s not even gay.  Or he says he isn’t.  It’s just...he’s always been nice to me.”

 Blaine nods slowly and looks down into his lap.  “Okay.  But...be careful?”

Kurt squeezes his hand briefly before opening the door.  “I will.”  He slips out, but stops before closing the door.  “Blaine?” Kurt asks.  “Can we still--are we still going to be friends?  I...I really want that.”

Blaine finally looks at him and says with as little sadness as possible, “Of course.”

**The Substitue**

“Ugh.  For the last time, Mercedes, we are  _ just. friends, _ ”  Kurt rolls his eyes dramatically and reaches for a bowl of baby carrots.

“Oh, well, that makes it  _ so _ much better.  Because now you’re ditching me all the time to  _ not _ get some.”

The atmosphere in cafeteria is tense today and it’s not helping their little conversation.  Kurt had, in fact, been spending a lot of time with Blaine, and Mercedes was getting the short end of it.  He had no idea she  _ minded _ , although, in retrospect, he probably should have.

Kurt drops both hands to her shoulders and looks her in the eyes.  “Mercedes.  Listen.  You are my  _ dear, dear friend _ .  I love you no matter what--even if you’re wearing that hat we talked about.  But right now...I just need someone who  _ understands  _ me.”

Mercedes scowls.  “What’s  _ that _ supposed to mean?”

“It means,” Kurt sighs as they slide into their seats.  “That Blaine is  _ gay _ .  Blaine’s been beaten up for being gay.  Blaine’s had crushes on boys who are  _ physically incapable  _ of reciprocating.”

“Yeah, I wouldn’t know anything about that,” she mutters, stabbing a--whatever it is.  Green thing.  “I’m just saying that--”

But Kurt doesn’t hear the rest.  Karofsky is gliding past behind her, winks, throws a sinister kiss.  Kurt’s suddenly not remotely hungry.

“Listen,” he says, probably interrupting.  “We can’t get an extra Rent ticket this late, but next weekend, come hang out with us?”

Mercedes shifts in her seat.  “I don’t want to be the third wheel.”

Kurt groans.  “You can’t be the third wheel because I’m not  _ riding anything! _ ”  As soon as it’s out of his mouth, Kurt blushes ferociously.  “Oh my god, not like--”   
  


But Mercedes is already laughing too hard to hear his sputtered redaction.

~*~

“Well, hey!  Look at  _ you _ !  Never seen you out of uniform before.”

It’s Friday and Kurt’s been sitting on the porch, waiting for Blaine to pull up to spare himself the inevitable interrogation from his father for going to a  _ play _ with a  _ boy _ .  Even if, as Kurt seems to have said about a million times lately,  _ he’s just a friend. _

Blaine smiles, spreads his arms, does a slow turn, ending in finger guns pointed at Kurt.  “Well, you know, I do have other clothes,” Blaine says lamely.

“I see that.  Very ‘Sexy Grandpa.’  It works for you.  Possibly  _ only _ you, but still.”

“Shall we?” Blaine smiles, offering his arm.

“We shall,” Kurt returns, tucking his hand into the crook of Blaine’s elbow.

Something’s bugging Blaine, Kurt can tell.  He’s still chipper and chatty, but there’s just something a little...off that Kurt can’t quite put his finger on.  So in the middle of a tirade against mixed-gender acapella groups competing against same gender ones (“I mean, they just have bass AND soprano lying around all over the place, but WE get one or the other--do you  _ know _ how rare a good countertenor is?  Oh, yeah, I guess you do.”)  Kurt cuts him off.

“Is something the matter, Blaine?”

Instead of frowning, like he usually does when he doesn’t understand something, Blaine smiles.  “What do you mean?”

“You’re just...acting like something isn’t right.  Is it me?”

Blaine’s expression softens.  “God no, Kurt, it’s not you.  Of course not.”  He pauses for a moment.  “Well, okay.  Maybe a little.”

Kurt tips his head, encouraging.

“It’s...us.  We’re friends, right?”

Kurt reaches out and touches Blaine’s hand.  “Of course.  Best friends.”

“I just wanted to be sure we’re...that we’re cool.  I know I kind of made things awkward when I tried--after we had lunch that time...”

Kurt shakes his head, laughs awkwardly.  “Oh no, psh.  No big deal.”

“Because I’m totally  _ totally _ over that now, I just--”

“Oh right, I hadn’t even--”  Kurt gestures flipping his hand from his forehead and up, as though it’d physically escaped his mind.

“Right,” says Blaine, with a shaky laugh.  “I just...you know.”

“Yeah, I know.”

~*~

Rent is incredible.  Kurt watches with wide, teary eyes and rapt attention.  Occasionally, he’ll lean in to Blaine or Blaine will lean in to him and they’ll exchange commentary, from the banal (“God, her  _ ass _ in those pants!  What were they thinking?”) to the personal (“I used to listen to this song after school, every day, when things were bad.”)

But then a song catches Kurt out, hits him in a place he didn’t know still hurt.  “ _ Will I lose my dignity? _ ” they ask, and Kurt remembers walking around with proof of his weakness  bruised onto his face for everyone to see for days and days and days.  It gives him the same physical sensation he’d felt that same day, as Tina followed him down, overbalancing, her knee slipping for a moment into his stomach.  “ _ Will someone care? _ ”  They didn’t.  They hadn’t.  They don’t.  They  _ never will _ .  His breath catches hard and he bites back an actual sob.  “ _ Will I wake tomorrow? _ ” He feels a strong arm slip around his shoulders, a hand reach across, take his own.  Kurt buries his face in the curve of Blaine’s neck, clutches his sweater, cries hard and messy into his chest.  “ _ From this nightmare? _ ”  Blaine’s holding him tight and close with both arms now.  Kurt can feel him pressing his face into Kurt’s hair as he rocks him gently across the arm rest of the theatre seats.  Kurt reaches up with one hand to cup Blaine’s cheek and feels that it’s wet, too.

“Do you want to go?” Blaine whispers.  Kurt shakes his head hard and sits up a little, still resting on Blaine, but watching again.

“No,” he whispers back.  “Just hold me, though?”

He spends the rest of the show tucked along the curve of Blaine’s jaw, his shoulder, his arm, Blaine’s right hand gently and absently rubbing Kurt’s shoulder.

When they leave, of mutual consent, they wind their fingers together and hold hands, tight, fingers interlaced, until Kurt slips out of Blaine’s car.  “Goodnight,” he says quickly, unable to meet Blaine’s eyes.

~*~

That night, he lies awake in bed, phone held to his stomach.  He thinks about the smell and feel and warmth of Blaine.  How safe he felt.  How easy it’d been to let go.  How easy it’d be to just turn to him and  _ feel _ for a while.

But with that came a knot in his throat.  Fear.  Because a boy who tries to kiss you less than twenty-four hours after meeting you is a boy who’s going to want to...more than kiss you.  And if the Kurt that Blaine wanted to kiss is the one he saw falling apart at Dalton, Kurt doesn’t think he can keep being that hurt forever.

And all this assumes Blaine still wanted him.

He said he didn’t.

And god, why would he?  After watching Kurt run hot and cold, ping back and forth between elation and despair, wax poetic about Finn...

Finn.

Something was changing there, too.  It was almost an  _ effort _ to keep liking him.  More and more he was seeing the cracks, wishing he’d be something else.  Finn would never have looked him in the eyes and said “I understand.”  Finn would never have held him while he cried in the middle of a theatre.  

Finn would never want to kiss him too soon.

Or ever.

But he really doesn’t know how to do anything else.  And after all this time, it’d hurt to admit he’d been so wrong.  That he knows himself so very little.  That he’d been  _ desperate _ .  It  _ has _ to be real, though.  Because when a cute boy tries to kiss you, you want to kiss him back.  Period.  You don’t feel a little terrified and like running away, you don’t question it, you just  _ do it _ .  So clearly, he didn’t like Blaine.

  
_ Doesn’t _ like Blaine.   _ Doesn’t _ .

And the only reasonable explanation for that has to be that he still has feelings for Finn.

Which is good, because according to Blaine, that ship has  _ sailed _ .  Which is also good. 

It is.

Really.

He feels a vibration against his lower belly, and realizes he’d drifted off, until the buzz of a new message wakes him.

**Blaine:** Just checking on you.  Are you okay?

Kurt looks at the message for a long time.  He could do it now.  He can say they’ll try.  He can say they never, ever will.  He can call and let Blaine talk him to sleep and not worry about what they are to each other.  He writes and erases six messages before he settles on

**Kurt:** I’m fine, thx.

Kurt wakes up in the morning, numb with shame.  He can’t believe he fell apart like that.  It’s hard to talk to Blaine, and he’s really glad he’ll have the buffer of Mercedes the next time they see each other in person.  On the phone and in texts, Blaine almost asks a hundred times, but never really does.  So Kurt keeps pretending.

~*~

At Breadstix the next weekend, Kurt’s mostly over his embarrassment, but he’s knows he’s being distant.  Fortunately, Blaine and Mercedes get along  _ really _ well.

“...and  _ then _ , she took away our  _ tots _ ,” Mercedes hisses.

“No!” Blaine gasps.  “I mean, I understand the importance of having healthful options in a school, but we have to learn to make  _ choices _ .  High school is a time to explore and make mistakes and learn to do the right thing just because it’s the right thing.  I mean, nobody in the  _ real _ world is going to force us to eat our broccoli.”

“Exactly!” Mercedes crows, pounding the table.  “Their tots aren’t even that  _ good _ , I just don’t like it when people tell me what I can and can’t do.”

“Because as a strong woman of color, you get that enough.”

Mercedes’ eyes widen.  “How did you  _ know _ ?” she breathes.

Blaine shrugs, gestures toward himself.  “Out and proud man of color.  I get it.”

Mercedes grabs Kurt’s arm urgently.  “Kurt.  This one is a  _ keeper _ .”

Kurt takes an aggressive sip of his soda.  “We. Are just. Friends.”

Mercedes rolls her eyes.  “Okay, sure.  Friends.”  Blaine blushes, but keeps quiet.

“Oh my god, two gay men can just be friends, okay? I thought you of all people wouldn’t fall for that stupid stereotype that all gay men are promiscuous predators that can’t control their hormones long enough to make a decent, heartfelt,  _ platonic _ connection with another human being.”  Kurt slumps in his seat and scowls at her, arms crossed petulantly.  Blaine’s staring at him, eyebrows raised, fighting down something that could be either a laugh or fear.  Quite possibly both.

“ _ Excuse _ me?”  she begins dangerously.  “You are  _ not _ just about to talk to  _ me _ about being judged on a stereotype,  _ okay _ ?  No you are  _ not _ .”

“If you’re so sensitive to stereotypes, maybe you should quit acting like one,” he snaps.  “Or is the sassy head bob an involuntary response to tater tot withdrawal?”

“Guys,” Blaine interjects.  “Please don’t argue about this.  It’s not the Oppression Olympics.  Nobody gets a gold medal for being the most beaten down.  We have to stick together--all of us outcasts.”  Both Kurt and Mercedes look chagrined.  

“You’re right, Blaine,” Mercedes says.  “I’m sorry, Kurt.  I should mind my own business.”

“It’s okay, Mercedes,” Kurt says, reaching for her hands.  “I guess I can be...touchy sometimes.”  Kurt pulls up their joined hands and kisses her knuckles with a playful smack.

“Besides,” adds Blaine.  “I think if anyone gets to be offended here, it’s me.  I mean, the only way anyone would be into me is if they’re some kind of sex maniac with no standards?   _ Really _ , Kurt?”

There’s a beat, a heavy pause, where Mercedes gasps, and Kurt flushes, then begins to stammer an apology before Blaine cracks and can’t stifle a laugh.  “Oh my god, I’m  _ kidding, _ Kurt.”

~*~

**Mercedes:** ur cray-cray not to tap that.

**Kurt:** WTF, he’s still in my car!

**Mercedes:** so its not 2 late to get all up on his fine ass.

**Kurt:** That’d be like kissing my brother, ugh.

**Mercedes:**  unrelated, hows ur dad n carole?

**Kurt:** I hate you.

**Blaine** : Home safe now!  Dinner was fun.  Loved Mercedes.

**Blaine:** But you’re not ok.

**Blaine:** Kurt?

**Kurt:** I need to tell you something.  Can I

You held my hand and

Finn’s not

I don’t think we can be

I’m sorry I cried on your sweater.  It was a nice sweater.

**Blaine:** But still just a sweater.

**Furt**

“This is the best day of my life!” Kurt blurts as soon a Blaine answers the phone.

“Huh?  What happened?”

“Karofsky got suspended! And my dad got engaged!  To Carole!  They’re getting married!  And moving in!  We’re getting a new house so Finn and I can have our own rooms, but  _ still _ !”

Blaine’s silent for a moment, trying to process the babbling and decide what to respond to first.  Start safe, he decides.

“So...Karofsky got suspended?”

“Yeah.  He threatened to kill me--”

“He  _ what?”  _

“--and Mr. Schu saw him trying to intimidate me, so Coach Sylvester had him suspended!”

“Kurt, he  _ threatened to kill you _ ?”

“Only if I told and I’m not going to tell and it doesn’t matter anyway because  _ Blaine, he’s gone!” _

Blaine’s still cautious but says anyway, “That’s good. That’s really good.”

“ _ And _ the guys from Glee confronted him and told him to leave me alone.  They got in a fight and Sam--the guy Finn wouldn’t let sing with me?--Sam got a black eye and that really sucks, but  _ Blaine _ !  People are  _ on my side _ !”

Something is starting to click wrong about this for Blaine, so he asks cautiously, “So...all the Glee guys?”

There’s a pause.  “Well...all the Glee guys but Finn.”

And there it is.  Blaine doesn’t want to feel vindication, but he just  _ does _ .  He can’t help it.

“So...everyone but your soon-to-be step-brother stood up for you?  Where was  _ he _ ?”  Blaine’s expecting a sharp retort.  Some kind of biting sarcasm or at least a small snarl.

“I don’t know,” Kurt says quietly.  “I mean...he’s kind of self-conscious about me...and our parents...and...well, I mean, I kind of do stand out, you know?  Can you really blame him?”

“Yeah, actually, I kind of can,” Blaine says before he can stop himself.  

“God, you sound like my dad.  You don’t understand, Blaine.  I got  _ beaten up _ for standing out.  Sam and Artie and Mike got  _ beaten up _ for being okay with me standing out.  But they’ve never actually reached out to me, you know?  To talk or anything.  Finn has.”

Blaine literally bites his tongue.  He doesn’t even really know who he’s angry at right now, but he knows he’s  _ very _ angry at someone.  

“So...he treats you like a human being when nobody is around and that’s the basis for...what, exactly?  I don’t think you’ve ever actually told me what this...thing is with you guys.”

“It’s the basis for  _ hope _ , Blaine,” Kurt says desperately.  “It’s the basis for getting out of bed every god damned morning and going into that awful school with those awful people that  _ literally _ treat me like garbage.”  Blaine hears Kurt’s breath catch.  “You don’t know what it’s like.  When it got too bad, you got out.  I don’t have the luxury.”

And that hurts.  A lot.  He did run.  And he ran away from someone like Kurt.  He feels sick.

“Kurt,” he says and falters.  “Kurt, I’m so,  _ so _ sorry.  You’re just worth so much more than that.  You know that, right?  I can’t stand thinking you don’t know that.”

There’s a sniff, a shaky breath.  “I know.  I’m just so tired.”

“I know you are.  I know, I know.  I’d do anything to fix it for you.  Anything, if I could.”

“I know you would,” Kurt says softly.  “And I really don’t know why."

~*~

The next week was a barrage of wedding ephemera.  Texts of pictures of flowers and suits and centerpieces that never failed to make Blaine wish he could punch himself in the face for the idiotic fantasies it gave him.  So when his phone lit up with an incoming call, he’d lit up, too.  Listening to Kurt’s breathless litany of how  _ wonderful _ it all was caught he up and he felt just as excited as Kurt sounded.  Until--

“...and then he  _ sang _ to me, Blaine!  And we danced!  I’d never danced with a boy before and it was with  _ him _ !”

All of a sudden, the air is gone.  He thuds his head gently against his desk.

“Blaine, what’s that sound?  Is someone at the door?  Do you need to go?”

Blaine sits back up, forehead in hand.  “No, that’s just...my roomate.  He’s....just being Thomas.”

“Oh,” says Kurt, puzzled.  “But, um.  Yeah.  I have a brother now and he danced with me.  Well, that sounds weird.”

“Very  _ Flowers in the Attic _ ,” Blaine adds.

“Hmm.  Isn’t it, though?  Might as well add ‘incestuous’ to the list of things wrong with my urges,” Kurt says with a sharp laugh.

It’s supposed to be funny, but Blaine knows Kurt well enough to hear the cutting edge of truth to it.  “Kurt, there’s nothing wrong with you.”

“Says the guy wound up at urgent care on his first date.”

“Kurt--”

“ _ Blaine _ .  I know you don’t like to talk about it, but doesn’t it bother you just a  _ little _ ?  I mean, if you even  _ look _ at someone who doesn’t want it--pow.  And you were with someone who  _ did  _ want it and you  _ still _ got hurt.  You have to be afraid.”

Blaine  _ is  _ afraid, he knows.  But he’s afraid of other people.  And he’s  _ more  _ afraid of letting it go,  _ most _ afraid of living the rest of his life this way.  “There are worse things than being afraid,” he says at last.

Kurt sighs heavily.  “There are so many days when I wish I were you.  So can I  _ please _ tell you about Carole’s dress now or what?”

Blaine smiles to himself and tries to relax back into that warm, easy comfort they feel together.

~*~

Thomas has agreed to talk about Blaine’s Kurt situation  _ one last time _ under one condition: Blaine rounds out their party in  _ Left 4 Dead _ .

“...and then he’s all ‘oh he danced with me! It’s so awesome!’ but then he was all ‘I’m scared’ and ‘Oh Blaine, you’re so good to me, what would I ever do without you?’ and I’m like, what the fuck?”

“So what are you getting out of this again? OH FRAGGED!”

Blaine sighed.  “He lets me take care of him.  I can be who I wish I’d had--drop the fucking mine!  It’s mine!”

“Eat shit, Anderson, finder’s keepers.  I repeat--what are  _ you _ getting out of this?”

“I get...to be needed.”  Thomas blew him up, then turned around to face him.

“Look, Blaine, I’m not saying this because you’re gay.  I’m saying it ‘cause you’re being a little bitch.  Grow a pair, dude.  He’s going to run over you as long as you let him.”

Something snaps in Blaine then.  “Shut the fuck up, okay?  You don’t know what it’s like.  I’ve finally got a friend that can relate to what I’ve been through, and if I can help him while he’s stuck in that shit-hole, I’m happy to, just to have someone to talk to that doesn’t call me a  _ little bitch _ for actually acting like a decent human being.”

“Blaine, dude, I didn’t mean--”  but Blaine’s phone buzzes a new text.

**Kurt:** I have to see you.

“I have to go,” Blaine snaps, heading for the door.  Thomas blocks his way.

“I’m sorry, okay?  I just don’t like this guy taking advantage of you.”

Blaine stares for a moment, then says with quiet anger, “He’s not taking advantage of me.  He’s  _ fixing _ me.”

~*~

Kurt’s sitting on the front porch steps, knees drawn up to his chin, eyes red.

“Hey,” he says shakily.  “I’m so glad you came.”

“Of course I came,” Blaine says, sitting next to him.

“I’m kind of cold,” Kurt admits.  “But I don’t want to go in.”

Blaine unbuttons his blazer, shrugs it off, hands it over.  Kurt wraps it around his shoulders, holding both edges with a small, secret smile.  Blaine knows Kurt doesn’t smile much.  And he doesn’t know why he’s here right now, but he’s just happy to be the one that got that text.  Blaine’s paying off his time in purgatory with every wiped tear, every rage calmed.

“You want to talk?” Blaine asks after a while, hands clenched between his knees.

“This a good color for me?” Kurt mumbles.

Blaine assess him for a moment, then says with a sense of finality, “Yeah.  Blue works for you.”

Kurt takes a deep breath.  “Good.  Because I’m going to be wearing a lot of it.”

It takes a moment for the true meaning of the statement to sink in, but when it does, Blaine can’t contain himself.  “Wait--you’re coming to  _ Dalton _ ?”  Blaine grabs Kurt and hugs him hard.  “Oh my god!  You’re coming to  _ Dalton!”   _ He feels more than hears Kurt giggle and lets him go.  “That’s great, when did--”  Suddenly, his elation is stopped short, remembering the urgency of the text, Kurt’s slumped shoulders and teary eyes.

“Kurt...what happened?  Why are you leaving McKinley?”

Kurt sinks down a little and tells him the whole story.  About the overturned suspension, Coach Sylvester’s resignation, his Dad and Carole’s aborted honeymoon.  He’s dry eyed, but the weariness seeping into his body seems to crush him.

“I’m really sorry, Kurt,” Blaine says when he finishes.  “I’m really sorry you have to go...but I’m so happy to be getting you.”  He squeezes his friend hard on the shoulder.

“Thank you,” Kurt says, covering Blaine’s hand with his own.  “I’d be so scared without you.”

They sit quiet for a while, just feeling safe and alone, weighing the good and the bad of it and hoping it comes out in their favor in the end.

“So...” Kurt says at last.  “Warblers...”

Blaine scoffs.  “You know this has all just been an elaborate plan for us to snag a countertenor, right?”

Kurt laughs.  “Yeah, I suspected as much.”

**Special Education**

Blaine had been dreaming of Kurt coming to Dalton for so long that little things like “reality” and “culture shock” never really occurred to him.  So now, having not debriefed the boy who did a duet with himself half in drag about the intricacies of an  _  a capella  _  group at a  _ private school  _ with  _ uniforms _ , he’s watching with more than a little horror as Kurt glides in, takes over, and is immediately shot down.  Gently, more like putting down a rabid beloved dog than CSI-level homicide, but still.  Shot.

And hey, he gets the bird.

Fortunately, the Warblers are nothing if not accommodating (to Blaine) and after yet another impassioned speech (“If the founding fathers of this country had been afraid to stand up and  _ lead _ without hesitation, where would be, gentlemen?   _ Where would we be? _ ”), the council agrees to give Kurt a shot at a solo audition.

“It’s simply an audition, Warbler Blaine,” Wes reminds him sternly.

“He has to earn his place here just like everyone else,” David reminds him threateningly.

“Whatever you think is best Blaine, “ Thad smiles adoringly.

But Blaine has every confidence in the world that Kurt will wow them so much that they will have no choice but to give him that solo.   The way Kurt lights up when Blaine tells him he gets to audition more than makes up for those heart-stopping moments in the meeting room (“they could have at least laughed at his jokes,” Blaine thinks bitterly).

“Don’t Cry for Me Argentina” is breathtaking.  Blaine does encourage Kurt to tone down the physical theatrics a bit, for the sake of the more conservative council members, but mostly he just watches in awe.  He’d heard Kurt sing before, in the car, in their rooms, but he’d never heard him  _ perform _ .  “He’s got it,”  Blaine thinks as the song ends.  “He’s  _ so _ got it.”

That’s why, when the council decides to move on Nick and Jeff instead, Blaine is almost speechless.

Almost.

“But Kurt!” he sputters.

Wes and David glance at each other and seem to come to some sort of silent agreement before David speaks.  “Warbler Kurt gave an excellent, show-stopping performance.  However, we are an a Capella group and as such, no one person can  _ stop the show _ .  He just needs some time to adjust.  It’s his first day, Blaine.  You can’t expect him to just show up ready.”

“But--” Blaine starts.

“Blaine,” Wes says gently.  “We understand you have a...special relationship...with Kurt.  But we can’t give in to the romantic whims of our members.  Even if they’re our best asset.”

Blaine’s shaking with humiliation and anger.   “This is not about me,” he says, keeping his voice official and completely level.  “With all due respect to the judgement of the council, I think you’re making an egregious mistake.  Kurt’s vocal range opens up a vast store of new options we’ve never had access to before.”

“That may be, Warbler Blaine,” says Wes.  “But the fact remains Kurt’s just not ready for a solo within this group.  Leading an a cappella choir is very different than singing out front for a mixed gender, recorded music backed group.”

“So don’t let him lead,” Blaine says, barely thinking a word ahead.  “Give Nick the solo and let me duet with Kurt.  We had a countertenor fall into our laps and we can’t waste that opportunity.”

“That’s what  _ he _ said,” someone (probably fucking Stacy again) snickers.

The council confers in whispers for a moment, before Thad announces, “Warbler Blaine.  You may audition a duet with Warbler Kurt tomorrow.  It is, again,  _ just an audition _ .”

Blaine allows himself a triumphant rock back in his seat.  “Thank you, sirs.  You will not be disappointed.”

~*~

Kurt is absolutely not the hugging type, so Blaine is caught utterly off guard when Kurt practically tackles him at the news.  

“Oh my god, Blaine!  Oh my god, thank you thank you!”

Reluctantly, Blaine extricates himself.  “Whoa, wait a second.  Number one, it’s just an audtion.  Number two, it’s  _ tomorrow _ .  Number  _ three _ , we really need to work on some things if this is going to work.”

“Like?” Kurt asks.

“Like...well, you don’t have to try so hard, okay?  We wear a uniform here for a reason, Kurt.  It’s okay to fit in.  That’s what The Warblers are about.  Being a  _ team _ .  The person singing the solo is just one small piece of the performance, no more important than the beatboxer or any of the harmonies.  If just one of us is weak, we’re all weak.”

“Wow,” says Kurt.  “I guess I never really thought of that.  I’m just...I’m so used to having to scream to be heard.”  Kurt smiles wryly.  “And sometimes even then it didn’t work.”

Blaine sits down next to Kurt and brushes a stray hair out of his face.  “Well, you don’t have to do that anymore, okay?  I’ll hear you.  And so will everyone in that room.”

The look of shock and  _ gratitude _ Kurt gives him makes him swallow hard.  He has to look away.

~*~

“But  _ why _ can’t we do Connie Francis?  She’s  _ in my range _ !”

“First of all,” sighs Blaine, looking at Kurt upside down, hanging over the edge of the bed.  “I don’t even know who that is.  Second?  Everything is in your range, so your point is invalid.”

Kurt shuffles through his records and pulls a stack into his lap.

“Astrud Gilberto?”

“No.”

“Edith Piaff?”

“No.”

“Duran Duran?” he suggests meekly.

“ _ No! _ ”

Kurt collapses backward onto the pile.  “Ugh.  I give up.”

“I think you’re going in the wrong direction,” Blaine says, rolling over and digging his iPod out of his bag.  “We’re kind of...Top 40.  Or, you know, at least this decade.  Try this.”

Blaine hands one ear bud to Kurt and lays down next to him, scrolling through his play list.  “Here,” he says, cuing up the music.  “Now.  Listen.  It’s got a strong beat, so we can work with it rhythmically.  Catchy.  The leads are high, to showcase your range.  Complex background, good harmonies.  It’s something the whole group can work with--something that shows off  _ all _ of us.”

Kurt’s looking at him strangely, something vaguely puzzled and admiring.  “That’s kind of incredible,” he says.  “How you can hear all that naturally.  You just...think of everyone first.  I’ve never seen anything like that.”

Blaine shrugs and sits up.  “I don’t know.  I guess I just--”

“Oh, careful!” Kurt gasps as Blaine nearly leans his knee on a very worn cardboard sleeve.  Kurt takes it gently.  “That’s Jo.”

Kurt’s eyes are far away and fond as he slides the record from its sleeve and takes it to the record player.

“Who’s that?” Blaine asks, beginning to feel reverent for a reason he doesn’t quite know.

“Jo Stafford,” Kurt says softly, dropping the needle.  “My mom taught me to dance to this record.”  He closes his eyes and sways, humming in the scratching silence for a moment, before seeming to catch himself.  “But I’m sure you learned at, like, cotillion or The Miss Moneypants School for Young Gentlemen or whatever,” he laughs.

Blaine smiles down, embarrassed.  “I never learned at all, actually,” he admits.  “My dad preferred I learned to take apart an intake manifold.  Wish I had, though.”

Kurt tips his head to the side as the music begins. ( _ see the pyramids along the Nile) _  “Well, you’re in luck.  I can do  _ both _ .”  He holds out a hand.  “Come on.  I’ll show you.  Every young gentleman should know how to dance.”

It’s silly, but Blaine feels his stomach knot as he reaches for Kurt’s hand. ( _ watch the sun rise on a tropic isle) _ Kurt keeps them far enough apart to see their feet for instruction, but he may as well have dragged Blaine into a full body embrace for how Blaine’s heart is beating.

“Okay, now back, two, three and side, six, seven...” 

The room is small, and they keep bumping into furniture and walls ( _ just remember, darling all the while _ ) and nearly tripping.

“You’re catching on fast,” Kurt grins.  “Considering.” ( _ you belong to me _ )

“I’ve got an excellent teacher,” Blaine says with a playful wink that sends Kurt into giggles. ( _ see the market place in old Algiers _ )

“Okay, now you lead.  You’ll probably need to know that more than how to follow,” Kurt says, switching their arms. ( _ send me photographs and souvenirs _ ) “For, you know.  Girls.”

“I’d rather dance with boys,” Blaine mock pouts. ( _ just remember when a dream appears _ )

“Look up,” Kurt says.  “Watch me, not your feet this time.” ( _ you belong to me _ )

Blaine, equipped with a better feel for what they’re doing and Kurt’s grace, leads them gently and with fewer and fewer collisions with the furniture.  Kurt’s eyes are soft, focusing just past him. ( _ I’d be so alone without you _ )

“Do you miss her a lot?” Blaine asks quietly. ( _ maybe you’d be lonesome too _ )

“Not really,” Kurt confesses. ( _and_ _blue_ )  “It’s been so long, and I was so young...I guess...I guess I miss the _idea_ of her more than I miss her.”  Blaine hums in understanding.  ( _fly the ocean in a silver plane_ )  “I’m bad about that,” Kurt nearly whispers.  The increasing softness of his voice is drawing Blaine in closer and closer, tightening their steps ( _see the jungle when it’s wet with rain_ ) until they’re swaying gently, faces nearly touching.

“I missed her the most when my dad was sick,” he continues, and Blaine can barely hear him, even though he’s speaking so close to his ear that it’s raising the hairs on his arms. ( _ just remember, darling, ‘til you’re home again _ ) “I know if he died...I’d just be alone.”

Blaine pulls back a little, looks up into his eyes.   “No.  You wouldn’t,” he says around a tightness in his chest ( _ you belong to me _ ) he doesn’t even understand.  It feels like it hurts but it feels so good, too.  To be this close, to hold him like this...but mostly to know that frigidly beautiful, untouchable Kurt is unfastening his armor and laying himself open, just a little bit, for Blaine.  Only for Blaine.  The last notes die out and they stand there, not moving anymore, stuck in each other’s eyes and the thickness of the moment.

“We should practice,” Kurt breathes unsteadily.

“I thought we were,” Blaine answers with a boldness he doesn’t feel.  He’s not going to step in further.  He’s not going to take this bright, itching tension to its logical conclusion.  He’ll wait for Kurt.  And if the flicker of Kurt’s eyes away from his own, down to his lips, and back is any indication, it’s a wait that’s almost over.

A door slams.  “Kurt you’re home!” calls a bright voice.

And like  _ that _ , it’s Kurt again, inside his glass house, narrow, guarded eyes hiding everything.  “Hey Finn.  Up here,” he calls.  

As the thunk of indelicate footsteps approaches, Blaine does some quick physics in his head and ascertains that there is, in fact, no way for him to get enough leverage to shove Finn down the god damned stairs without sending himself tumbling after.  

The boys step apart quickly as Finn pokes his head in the door.  “Hey!”  He scowls. “I’m not, like--”

“No, no,” Kurt says quickly.  “I was just teaching Blaine to dance.”

“Cool!” Finn says, barging in.  Suddenly the room is far too small.  “He’s an  _ awesome _ teacher.  I didn’t break anything at the wedding.  Check it out!”

Finn clumsily swoops a laughing Kurt into a stilted parody of a waltz.  “Oh my god,  _ Finn _ , we have an audition tomorrow,” Kurt gasps through helpless giggles.

“I need to get back, anyway,” Blaine stammers.  “Meet me before school?”

“Sure,” Kurt snorts as Finn staggers them into the dresser.  “Ack!  Not the alpaca oil!” 

As he leaves, Blaine hears them, Kurt’s clear laughter filling the house.  

~*~

**Kurt:** So that song you had.  I like it.  Can we do it?

**Blaine:** Sure.

**Kurt:** You okay?  You left in a hurry.

**Blaine:** Lots to do.

**Kurt:**  Thank you again.  For the help.

**Blaine:** Don’t worry about it.

~*~

“You ready?” Blaine whispers to a jittering Kurt they stand before the council.  Blaine has already passed out the arrangement to the rest of the Warblers and now, they’re just waiting for the go sign.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Kurt answers.

“And 5, 6, 7, 8,” Blaine counts in.  

“ _ Well rise above, gonna start the war,” _ Blaine begins.  “ _ Whatcha want whatcha need, whatcha come here for? _ ”

The rest of the Warblers are starting to bob along, feeling it, slow smiles spreading across their faces.  By the time Kurt sings “ _ Got shackles on, my wings are tied _ ”...

...the audience is on its feet, nearly drowning them under the hot lights.  Blaine and Kurt circle, skip, dance past each other like soldiers breaking formation as the rest of the group bends into choreography that’s maybe just a bit more intense than what they’re used to.  “ _ Rise up to your ability _ ” the Warblers chant, jumping in unison, Kurt and Blaine raising their arms, bringing the audience up to bounce along with them.

The applause at the end is deafening and Blaine feels drugged.  Kurt’s wild grin tells him that he feels the same way.  When it’s announced that they’ve tied with New Directions, Blaine knows it’s the absolute best outcome Kurt could have hoped for.  Everything is perfect.

~*~

_ Kurt calls in a panic. _

_ The bird is fine.  Just molting.  He’s got everything he needs.  He’s safe.  He doesn’t have to fight for food, doesn’t have to worry about predators, isn’t in danger of the cold.  So he must be happy. _

_ He must. _

**A Very Glee Christmas**

So it’s not like Kurt hasn’t had...thoughts...before.  About men.  

You know.

_ Thoughts _ .

But it’d always been pretty cleanly divided.  

Guys in muscle mags, movie stars, models.  He could, you know,  _ think _ about them and that was okay.  They were kind of there for that purpose.  

And then there were real-life boys.  Thinking about them went only as far as declarations of love, holding hands at nice restaurants and, if he was feeling incredibly risque, chaste wedding kisses.  Once in a while, it gets a little blurry--like the time Finn sang “Hello, I Love You,” and he had to do some quick distracting for the rest of the week (his closet had never been so organized, so clean, or so maniacally ironed), but for the most part, he wouldn’t disrespect guys he  _ knows _ and  _ cares about  _ with that kind of internal indignity.

But then there was Blaine. Last week Blaine had spread into him like a contagion.  The feel of his body warm and easy in Kurt’s arms as they danced.  The smell of him as Kurt poured out his heart into the space between his cheek and ear.  The gentleness in his eyes, the strength in his voice when he promised Kurt he’d never be alone.  It’d been attacking him at random, at the worst possible times, with his perverted mind revising history a little bit, where Finn doesn’t come home and butt in (“ _ cut _ in,  _ cut _ in--Finn Hudson tackled danced with you in your bedroom, dumbass, try to work up a little enthusiasm”) and it’s all fun and games until somebody ends up with a hand up their shirt.  Or even going all the way back to that first day and maybe Kurt doesn’t panic and turn away and --okay, no.  

Blaine is his best friend.  Best. Friend.  Platonic “totally over that” best friend and what kind of guy would Kurt be if he thought about him like  _ that _ ? I mean, how would he feel if he thought Blaine had...

...had...

...had...

Oh boy.

And Blaine?  Not helping one god damned bit right now, sashaying in with his CD player and his enthusiasm and his need to practice for his King’s Island job with a date rape Christmas song.  

Stupid Blaine and his stupid voice ( _ but baby it’s cold outside _ ) singing right in Kurt’s space.  Blaine’s stupid eyes, looking at him in this...way ( _ gosh, your lips look delicious _ ) that makes him feel all fluttery.  Stupid Blaine and his  _ stupid stupid _ hands that are disproportionally big and he’s heard that means--okay, Jesus, it just means he’s a good pianist, okay?  _ Okay _ .  ( _ but baby it’s bad out there _ )  Then there’s Blaine’s stupid thigh pressed up against his, and he’s grinning his stupid grin and  _ he said he’s over you Kurt, mother of god, quit it! _

If he thought last week was bad, this week was going to be worse.

So, so much worse.

Kurt breaks the tension and his own moronic fantasies by saying ( _ Iwannafeelyouupinthecommonroom _ ) “I think you’re ready.”

Before Kurt can faceplant into the couch and try to remember all the colors of green he can name and top it all off with a nice round of self-loathing, Mr. Schu is there, wagging his eyebrows asking about Blaine.  For the billionth time, Kurt says “He’s just a friend.”  And for the  _ first _ time, it burns a little.

~*~

“So how’d it go?” Kurt asks breezily.  Good, platonic friends call their good platonic friends to be supportive.  And to be honest?  Blaine’s done most of the “supportive” heavy lifting in this relationship.  So a post-performance call  _ to be a good friend _ is the least Kurt can do.

Blaine’s still a little out of breath on the phone, his voice still ringing with adrenaline and excitement.

“Oh, it was  _ great! _ ” he says.  “The crowd loved it, the people here are a lot of fun and--hold on, I’ve got another call.”

Kurt waits patiently, happy Blaine’s having fun.  Kind of missing having him around all the time.  Pondering going to see the show.

“You still there?” Blaine asks.

“Of course.”

“Can you hang on for another second, I’m making some plans--but I really want to tell you about the show, okay?”

“Sure.”

There a shuffle on the other end.

“Okay.  Jeremiah?”

Kurt’s entire body goes numb and he feels sick.

“Uh...no.  Just Kurt.”

“Oh, sorry!” Blaine laughs.  “Hang on, okay?”

_ Yeah, Kurt _ , Kurt thinks.   _ You just hang right in there. _

~*~

“Don’t be that guy,” Mercedes scolds.  “Boy has had it  _ bad _ for you for a long time and you’re going to start getting all jealous  _ now _ ?  I don’t. think. so.”

This is not the speech he wanted.  Mercedes was failing pretty epically at the best girlfriend thing right now, and Kurt really wants to tell her that, except she’s absolutely right.

“Besides,” adds Mercedes.  “I think he’s just friends with Jeremiah.  He said they pretty much just hang out with the rest of the cast.”

“Wait, what?” asks Kurt, sitting up suddenly and upsetting the bowl of M&Ms resting on his stomach.  “You talk to  _ Blaine _ ?  About  _ boys _ ?”

Mercedes rolls her eyes.  “No, I don’t talk to Blaine.  We text.”

Kurt gapes at her.  “You guys have been having a best friend affair right behind my back all this time?  And you didn’t tell me?”

Mercedes looks innocent.  “I didn’t know I had to clear all my interactions with my friends with you.  Just so you know, I posted a picture of a goth bunny on Tina’s wall the other day.  Oh, and I sent Santana a picture of my butt.”

Kurt’s eyes narrow.  “This is different and you know it.”

“Why?” asks Mercedes.  “Because you’re not playing them?”

“I’m not playing anybody!” Kurt snaps.  “We talked about it ages ago.  We’re friends.  It’s what we both want.  I like Finn and Blaine ( _ is so totally out of my league _ ) is very busy with school and Warblers and now, apparently, he likes boys who sing at theme parks.”

“Light tech, actually.”

“Oh, that’s  _ much _ better.”

“And it’s just for Christmas.  He works at the GAP.  He’s in  _ college _ .”

Kurt blinks at her slowly for a long time.  “I hate everyone I know,” he says simply.

~*~

“What?” Kurt grumbles into his pillow to the knock at his door.

“Um.  Hey?  You okay?”

Kurt turns his head a little and is eye to eye with Finn, holding two mugs.  “It’s, um.  It’s 9:30 and you hadn’t brought me my milk yet, so I thought maybe you forgot.  Or something.  So.  Here you go.  I made you one.”

Kurt turns over and sits up against the headboard.  “Thanks,” he says, taking the mug.  Finn sits down on the bed near his feet and Kurt frowns a little in surprise.

“Yes?” Kurt asks.

Finn just shrugs and looks awkward.  “I don’t know.  You usually try to get me to talk while we have our milk.  So I thought I’d try to get you to talk to me?  Especially since something’s wrong.”

Kurt smiles just a little.  “Nothing’s wrong, Finn.  Everything’s fine.”

“You miss your boyfriend?” Finn asks.

“Huh?”

“No, Kurt, it’s cool.  Seriously.  I know I used to be all weird about the gay thing, but...well, you’re my brother now.  And I care about you.  And your life.  And since I’m a boy, I can help you with your boy troubles.”

“Finn--”

“Listen,” Finn says, looking at him with almost painful earnestness.  “I know I didn’t stick up for you like I should have.  And it was because...”  Finn takes a deep breath and lets it out nervously.  “Well, it was because I thought...I kind of thought you were into me?  Like...you know.  But then you started going out with Blaine and it was like...I didn’t have to worry about that anymore, you know?  And it turns out you’re pretty cool.”

Kurt just sits and stares and holds his cup like it’s nothing.  Like all of planet Earth hasn’t slipped off its axis, like everything Kurt ever thought he knew about anything  _ ever _ wasn’t totally wrong.  Like Finn Hudson hadn’t just said he  _ knew _ Kurt had been crushing on him and was  _ less nice _ because of it.  Like Finn Hudson hadn’t taken the first excuse he could find to believe Kurt  _ wasn’t _ infatuated with him and used to be a  _ decent step-brother _ .  Like he hadn’t needed an excuse in the first place.

“Finn,” Kurt says.  “Blaine and I are just friends.  We aren’t going out.  We never were.”

Finn hisses.  “Ouch.  Sorry, dude.  Hey--there are plenty of gay fish in the sea.  I’m sure you’ll find somebody soon that appreciates you just like you are--crazy zipper clothes and all.  I mean, there’s got to be lots more gay dudes at Dalton, right?”

Kurt spent years thinking he liked this guy.  Kurt spent  _ years _ thinking he was in love with  _ this. fucking. guy. _  This guy that tries really hard to be a good person--really, really hard--but can still only top out at “mildly condescending.”  This guy that, for all his lovable effort and homespun charm,  _ was really kind of stupid _ .

Kurt spent  _ so much time _ pining after someone who could be nice to him, but could never actually  _ want _ him.  Who could never actually want him to the degree that he couldn’t imagine anyone else wanting him, either.

And right then, it’s like puzzle pieces snapping together.

“Yeah,” says Kurt.  “Lots of fish.  Plenty. A veritable nigiri platter of homosexuality.”

Finn grins, clearly pleased with himself.  “Well, good.  I’m glad you’re feeling better.  I’m glad we had this little talk.”  He claps Kurt on the knee and stands to go.

“Finn?”  Kurt calls after him.  Finn turns.  “You’re a good brother.  You’re probably a pretty terrible boyfriend, but you’re a good brother.”

Finn beams.  “Thanks!” he says as he goes.

~*~

**Blaine:** @the GAP.  Scarves on sale.  Red with blue or blue with red?

Kurt holds his phone at arm’s length over the edge of his bed and drops it to the floor.

~*~

“So how was your break?” Kurt asks over lunch back at Dalton.

“Pretty good,” Blaine answers through a mouth full of spinach salad.  “But I talked to you almost every day and we hung out, like, four times, so I don’t think there’s a lot you missed.”

Kurt shrugs.  “Well, you never know.  I know I can go on a bit about things that interest me.”  Blaine raises an eyebrow at him.  “I want to hear about  _ you _ .  Anything...interesting happen at King’s Island?” he blurts.

Blaine mouth spreads into a slow grin.  “Oooh, I get it.  You’re jealous.”

Kurt feels all the blood drain from his face.  But he and Blaine have always tried to be fairly honest with each other, so...okay.  “Yeah...yeah, I guess I am.  But that doesn’t mean--”

“Don’t worry about it,” Blaine says.  “No reason to be jealous.  I know the whole theme park thing  _ sounds _ like a lot of fun, but it’s actually not that great.  I mean, we didn’t even get ride passes.  Or funnel cake.  I mean, you’d think they could spare some  _ funnel cake _ .”

It’s a sign.  It’s clearly a sign.  What good would it do, after all?  “Hey Blaine, I know you used to like me and now I think maybe I might kind of like you but I’m kind of not sure because I’m also kind of scared of you and all your touching and your  _ feelings _ (and anyway you said you were over it and who the fuck is Jeremiah, anyway?) so absolutely nothing should change between us except now  _ everything is totally awkward _ .  Pals?”  Something inside him just breaks.

“I’m really confused right now,” Kurt says, absolutely out of nowhere.  He can feel tears welling up and where the hell did that come from?

Blaine stops mid bite.  “Kurt?”

“I’m just...I don’t like Finn, Blaine.  Not anymore.  And I don’t really know what that means.  I’m just so embarrassed. You’re so confident in who you are that it’s hard to be around you, because you gave me something great by helping me get out from under this, but you also kind of took something away, because it was just so  _ safe _ to like him, you know?  But then there’s you and you’re  _ actually gay _ and you like boys, too, and you’re okay with that and I should be brave like you, but I’m just  _ not _ ,”  he gulps a sob, and people are starting to stare, but he doesn’t care.  He can’t stop.  “They hurt a  _ girl _ , Blaine, because she was my friend and they hurt  _ me _ because theoretically, I might want to kiss a boy someday.  God, what would they do to me if I ever really  _ did _ ?”

Blaine’s eyes are wide, and when did he come around and sit next to Kurt?

  
“They wouldn’t do a damn thing.  Too many people that care about you know now and they aren’t going to let them do anything to hurt you again.  You can’t give them this, Kurt.  You can’t let them have you.”

Kurt leans into him and tries to steady his heart.  “Anyway,” Blaine continues, “You’re here now.  You’re safe here.”

“I still miss them so much, Blaine.”

“Then we’ll go see them.  You can go and you can see your friends and we’ll be safe and it won’t be so scary anymore, okay?”

Kurt nods.  “Okay.”

“My first trip back to my old school was a football game,” Blaine says.  “There are a lot of people there, so you’re safer in a crowd.  And all the guys that bullied me were out on the field, so they couldn’t hurt me, but I could still  _ see  _ them.  It was good for me.”

Kurt considers it for a moment, imagines himself in the cold air, in the stands with Carole and his dad and Mercedes and all the fans surrounding him.  He imagines watching Finn and Mike and Puck on the field--allies, even, in enemy territory.  Blaine next to him, cheering and charming, but quietly knowing how much more than a game this is.  “The glee club is going to be doing a halftime show next week,” Kurt says.  “I’d kind of like to go.  Will you...?”

“I’d be honored,” Blaine says and hugs him hard.

~*~

It’s harder than he’d thought.  He knows deep down that nobody is going to lay a hand on him in a crowd like this.  He’s glad Blaine’s with him, but he finds himself standing farther away from him than normal, carefully avoiding brushing their shoulders, keeps his hands clenched tight between his knees, barely speaks to him.

Someone who knew Blaine less would never know he was anything but utterly delighted to be part of this as he shouts down the refs and dances along at half time.  But Kurt knows that the line of his shoulders is slumped just a little.  He sees that every time Kurt flinches away from a touch, he sinks a little more.

It’s killing him.  After all Blaine’s been through, it’s  _ Kurt _ that’s dimming that light inside him, little by little, shame by shame.  Kurt swears this is the last time he’ll drag Blaine into this. 

After all the protecting Blaine’s done for Kurt, it’s the least he can do.

**Silly Love Songs**

Kurt could come up with a lot of words to describe Blaine Anderson.  Sincere.  Forward.  Charming.  Smart.  Oblivious.  But not “derpy.”

Until lately.

Blaine has been...derpy.  For the past, like,  _ week _ he’s been walking around with a shit-eating grin plastered on his face like some kind of lovesick moron.

He  _ loves _ Valentine’s Day.  Stuffed puppies are  _ adorable _ .  Of course Blaine knows his coffee order, silly!  They should share cupid cookies!

Wow.

Just wow.

Oh.  And is it too much to sing to someone? Blaine wants to know.  Clearly, the reason Kurt is grinding his molars into powder is that Valentine’s Day is a soulless, commercial holiday created by the patriarchy to sell worthless crap to heterosexual lemmings in the hopes of getting laid.  It has nothing to do with the fact that Blaine is mooning around like an idiot over some retail clerk he met at a theme park.  Nothing, okay?  He’s happy Blaine has found someone to sing ridiculously sappy songs to.  Blaine’s his best friend and he deserves to be happy.

With Jeremiah. 

Who works at the  _ GAP _ .  Ugh.

So Kurt plasters on his best smile and tells Blaine that no, singing is not too much.  It’s actually wonderful.  It’s a  _ fantastic _ idea and Blaine should totally go for it.  Blaine’s colon-capitol-D face makes Kurt want to kiss him and punch him at the same time.

“So,” says Kurt as casually as he can manage.  “What are going to sing to your lucky young man?”

“I don’t know,” Blaine answers, crumbling his cookie absently.  “He’s pretty picky about his music.  Great taste.  High standards.”

“Mmm,” says Kurt, taking a sip of mocha.  “Well, if he’s a decent guy, he’ll love whatever you decide to do for him.  And if not?  He’s not good enough for you, anyway.”  There’s a pang in Kurt’s gut that’s a little confusing.   A sadness and happiness mingling together that feels like he’s so, so glad to see Blaine like this and so, so sad that--as his friend--he could never light him up so much.

Blaine’s smile is soft.  “Thank you,” he says.  “That...that means a lot.”

~*~

“Did I miss something?” Kurt asks Nick as the Warblers file out of the practice room past him.

“Nope!” Nick grins, giving Kurt a punch in the arm.

“But what--”

He doesn’t finish because Jeff has headlocked him and is dragging him to third period.

~*~

“Hel-”

“He’s going to sing to Jeremiah for Valentine’s Day!”

“Who-”

“Or did you already know about that  _ Mercedes _ ?  Since you two are best girlfriends now?  I bet he told you.  I bet you got pedicures and listened to his iPod and plotted harmonies.   _ Didn’t you? _ ”

“Kurt, I--”

“And you didn’t feel like you should tell me this?  I mean--”

“KURT!”

“WHAT?”

“SHUT UP!”

Silence.

“Now.  Start over.”

“Blaine.  He’s going to sing to Jeremiah.  And you knew.”

There’s stifled giggle from Mercedes’ end of the phone.  “Kurt?  I can honestly say I know absolutely nothing about Blaine singing to Jeremiah for Valentine’s Day.”

“Oh.”

“And even if I did, what’s it to you?”

Kurt considers.  “Nothing.  I’m just...happy for him.”

“Are you now?”   
  


“Yes.  Very happy.  Every young man deserves to have a worthy object of his affections.  I just hope Jeremiah is worthy.”

There’s a shift and a quiet scuffle, then Mercedes says, “Listen. I can assure you that the object of Blaine’s affections is completely worthy.  Don’t worry about him.”

Kurt feels heavy and just breathes through a few heartbeats before he says quietly, “I’m not worried about him.  I’m not worried about  _ him _ at all.”

~*~

The thing about being the shop owner’s son is that you can’t really  _ quit _ .  Therefore, if all the lifts are full, it’s the shop owner’s son that gets the unequal privilege of being stuck on a roller board underneath a filthy Trans Am.  And since this Trans Am hasn’t had its oil changed since it was actually acceptable to be seen in one, it’s taking forever.  So even though the lifts are open, Kurt’s still stuck under the damn thing, getting filthy, sore, and pissy.  Plus?  Blaine’s probably making out with his shiny new boyfriend right about now.  Kurt had asked about brunch and a movie, but Blaine had mumbled something about plans and something big and hung up way too fast.  Which is great.  Blaine deserves to be making out with someone older and hot and with kissing experience that doesn’t involve the smell of sweat socks.

Somewhere between degreasing a stuck lugnut and absolutely not speculating about whether or not Blaine tastes like medium drip because he has no desire to have Blaine’s tongue in his mouth, he hears a crowded shuffle of feet and then an eerily familiar hum and rhythm.

Oh no.

Oooh no no no no no no no.

Not this.

_ “If you could only see the beast you made of me, _ ” sings a familiar voice.  Kurt squeezes his eyes shut and clutches his wrench to his chest, silently praying that this is not what he thinks this is.

He’s covered in grease, he’s  _ in his dad’s shop _ , and...it’s Blaine.

He feels two pairs of hands grab his ankles and neatly drag him out from under the car.  Nick and Stacy are at his feet, with Blaine standing astride him.  “ _ My fingers claw your skin,”  _ Blaine sings, dropping down to place a hand on his chest, “ _ Try to tear my way in--you are the moon that breaks the night for which I have to-- _ ” Blaine spins away from Kurt and vaults himself to the hood of the Trans Am, Warblers flanking him on the hood and trunk. 

_ “Hooo-oooo-ooowl! _ ” they...well, howl.

Kurt’s on his feet, trying to find Wes and David and  _ make them leave _ because he sees his dad scowling up from his paper work through his office window ( _ “My blood is singing with your voice, I want to pour it out” _ ) He’s getting up from his desk, is opening the door and coming out--oh god.  Oh god no.

As Blaine sings  _ “Like a child possessed, the beast howls in my veins _ ,” Jeff flips the switch turning on one of the hydraulic lifts, two Warblers perched on top.  Kevin from the shop shoes Jeff away and turns off the lift as Bob takes a Warbler under each arm, heading for the exit.

_ “Be careful of the curse that falls on young lovers, _ ” Blaine sings from atop--oh Jesus god why--from atop Mr. Cooper’s Lexus.  Fuck it.  Kurt just wants to escape.

_ “It starts so soft and sweet and turns them to hunters _ ”

Except the Warblers are chanting  _ “Hunters. Hunters. Hunters. _ ” and forming a predatory ring around him, backing him into a corner.  He fumbles behind himself at the office doorknob.

_ “The fabric of your flesh, pure as a wedding dress, _ ” Blaine sings as he wades through the Warblers to stand before Kurt.  The sincerity in his eyes as he sings “ _ Until I wrap myself inside your arms I cannot rest _ ,” makes Kurt’s heart clench.  There’s a piece of him that wants to reach out, hold him close, tell him he doesn’t have to do things like this to impress Kurt.  He shouldn’t be wasting this on Kurt because Kurt really doesn’t deserve it.

“ _ The saints can’t help me now, the ropes have been unbound-- _ ”  Blaine drops to his knees, giving Kurt a direct view of his father’s stony face, the other mechanics’ mocking laughter.  The office door unlatches.

“ _ I hunt for you with bloody feet across the-- _ ”  Blaine yelps his last note as Kurt grabs him by the back of his collar and flings him into the office.  The Warblers split between catcalling and continuing to sing, so Kurt hisses “Shut. Up.” at them before slamming the office door.

Kurt takes a moment to compose himself facing the door.  He’s shaking so hard he afraid he might pass out and feels like throwing up.  He turns to face Blaine, who’s smiling broadly.  But the smile falters, fades.

“Kurt--”

“What are you doing?”  Kurt gasps, rage and humiliation heating him.  Through the window, he sees the Warblers awkwardly filing out with the escort of his dad’s mechanics.  The ones that aren’t sobbing with laughter.

“Kurt, I--”

“Is this a joke?  Is this  _ funny _ for you?  Making an  _ idiot  _ out of me and my dad and  _ yourself _ ?”

Blaine’s eyes are wide and he’s working his mouth soundlessly, trying and failing to say something over and over again.  Kurt feels tears sting in his eyes.

“Do you know what they’re going to do now?” he says, gesturing toward the window.  “It’s bad enough people call the shop and tell him his son’s a fag--but at least he was okay  _ here _ .  Do you know what kind of  _ crap _ my dad is going to have to put up with from these guys?”

Blaine reaches out and lays a hand on Kurt’s arms, but Kurt flinches away.  “Kurt, you said the guys that work here know you’re gay.  They  _ love _ you.”

Kurt’s arms are crossed over his chest tightly and he can feel himself crying silently and it just makes it that much worse.  “There’s a limit to love, Blaine.”

Blaine’s look is confused and blank and...pitying.  “No, there isn’t,” he says.  “By definition, there isn’t.”

Kurt can’t breathe.  He wants to slap Blaine across the cheek for doing this, for drawing fire, for throwing himself at Kurt like...like Kurt’s some kind of untouchable thing he  _ has _ to throw himself at.  For thinking that would work.  He wants to grab Blaine by the face and kiss him hard and deep, but then what?  Then they don’t hold hands in public and don’t go any further than that and Kurt’s out a lifeline.

“Just go.  Please,” Kurt whispers, unable to look at Blaine.

When he hears the door click shut, he sinks to his dad’s chair and drops his head into his folded arms, not thinking, just letting all the feelings fight it out inside him.

After a while, there’s a knock at the door.  “Son?”

Kurt lifts his head, rests his face in his hands.  “Hi, Dad.”

Burt pulls a chair over in front of the desk and sits down.  His look is guarded, skeptical, inviting inquiry.  “So,” he says at last.

“I know, Dad.  I’m sorry.  How much trouble am I in?” Kurt’s picking at his cuticles, and that’s going to need some damage control later but, god.  That’s the least of his worries.

“A little bit,” Burt says.  “Want to explain yourself?”

Kurt sinks back in his chair and what can he say, really?  He shrugs.  “I don’t know. I took care of it as quickly as I could. I had no idea he was going to do this, I swear--I never would have approved this.  I am so, so sorry.  I know the guys are going to give you hell and I am so,  _ so _ sorry.”

Burt frowns.  “Kurt, I don’t care if those guys bust my chops.  Hell, if it wasn’t this, it’d be something else.  What I  _ do _ care about is how my son treats people.”

Kurt finally looks at him, stunned.  “What are you talking about.”

Burt leans forward onto the desk.  “Listen, kid.  What your friend just did was incredibly inappropriate.  And pretty stupid.  But he did out of his heart.  And you tossed him out by the collar like a drunk in a bar brawl.”

Kurt’s eyes drop to his lap in shame.

“Now,” Burt continues.  “I understand being on the receiving end of a crush you don’t want.  But son, that boy cares about you, and you’ve got to let him down easier than that.”

Kurt draws a shuddery breath and doesn’t answer.  He has no idea what to say.

Burt sits through the silence, then adds, “...if you want to let him down.”

“I can’t go out with him, Dad,” Kurt says softly.

“That’s fine, Kurt,” Burt says.  “Just...be a little gentle to people who are good to you, okay?”

~*~

“You  _ didn’t _ ,” Jeremiah snorts into his iced chair.

Blaine just groans into his arms.  “I  _ did _ .”

“You know,” Jeremiah muses.  “If you did that me?  I’d probably get fired.  And I’d never speak to you again.”

Blaine brings his head up and rests his forehead against his fist.  “He isn’t going to get fired, he works for his dad.”

“ _ You did it in front of his DAD? _ ” Jeremiah crows.  “Oh god--ow.  Chai in my nose.  Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I would  _ really _ like to be joking.”

Jeremiah sighs and ruffles Blaine’s messy curls (“I don’t deserve product,” he’d whined miserably at Jeremiah’s cocked eyebrow).  “Well, you’re young.  You’ll make lots of mistakes before you get it right.  I really don’t miss adolescence.”

“You’re  _ nineteen _ .  You’re barely older than me,” Blaine scowls.

“It’s a big three years,” Jeremiah says sagely.

“Two,” mutters Blaine.

Jeremiah watches Blaine for a moment, seeming to soften a little.  “Hey, don’t feel bad.  We’ve all done stupid things for love.  And you’re a great guy--someone you don’t publicly humiliate will be lucky to have you someday.  If I were in high school, I’d hit it.”

Blaine smiles weakly.  “Thanks.”

Blaine’s phone buzzes.

“Oh god!” he yelps.  “It’s him!  What do I do?”

Jeremiah rolls his eyes.  “Read the text maybe?”

He does.   **Kurt:** Can we talk?  Lima Bean, one hour.

“He wants to see me,” Blaine says, panicking.  “Here.  In an hour.”

“That’s good!  That means he’s at least speaking to you.”

“He’s probably coming to tell me that he never wants to see my stupid face again.”

“Probably,” Jeremiah shrugs.  “But hey, it’s something, right?”

Blaine gapes at him.  “You’re pretty much the worst friend ever.”

Jeremiah just grins.  “I’d be more worried about the white boy ‘fro and the glasses if I were you,” he says, picking up his bag to go.

“I’m not white,” Blaine grumbles.  Jeremiah just musses his hair again and turns to go.

~*~

Forty-five minutes later, Blaine watches Kurt glide into the Lima Bean.  Fortunately, Blaine had had time to run to CVS, get some sub-par product, snag a spare cardigan from his car, and practice focusing on the door without contacts.

When Kurt finally approaches, he’s carrying two coffees.

“Medium drip?” Kurt says, placing a cup in front of Blaine.

“You know my order.”

“Of course I do,” Kurt says softly.

“Kurt, I’m--”

“Blaine, I’m so sorry.”

Blaine is stunned into silence.  “What?  Why?”

Kurt shakes his head.  “I was awful to you, Blaine.  What you did was really sweet, and I...I just got scared, I guess.  I’m not...I’m not that person, Blaine.  I can’t just throw myself out in front of everyone like that.  It’s just too risky.”

Blaine reaches out and tentatively takes Kurt’s hand.  “Please don’t apologize.  I’m the one that should be sorry.  And I am.  I’m so,  _ so _ sorry.  I really should have known better.  I  _ do _ know better, I just...I wasn’t thinking.  You said you were over Finn, and you said singing was sweet...I just...got carried away.”

Kurt nods, looks down.  “Blaine?  Can I..?  Blaine, I thought the person you were going to sing to was Jeremiah.”

Blaine is stunned.  “Jeremiah?  Why?  Kurt, you and I--we hang out, we sing flirty duets together...we know each other’s coffee orders...you think that’s nothing?”

Kurt’s eyes widen.  “Oh no, Blaine.  No, god, of course that’s not nothing.  You’re my best friend and I care so,  _ so _ much about you.  And about us.  I just...I can’t lose this.  I don’t want to mess us up.”

Blaine closes his eyes, trying to keep the notes of pleading from his voice.  “What am I doing wrong?”

“Oh, Blaine,” Kurt sighs, eyes welling.  “You’re doing everything right.  I just...Blaine, I can’t give you what you’ll want.  What you  _ deserve _ .”

Blaine’s eyes go distant then.  “I don’t think you know what I want.”

“But I know what I need, Blaine.  And it’s not losing you over stupid teenage hormones.  We can be friends forever.   _ Best _ friends...if we don’t screw it up now.  Like  _ When Harry Met Sally _ .”

Blaine still feels empty, and sad.  But he feels a relief, too.  He’ll take Kurt however he can get him, and being best friends with the most amazing person you’ve ever met is hardly something to turn your nose up at.  For now, he’ll be content to stand at his side as his confidant, his friend, his brother.  For now.

“Don’t they get together at the end?” Blaine asks with a weak grin.

Kurt just smiles into his cup.

**Blame it on the Alcohol**

“No.”

“But--”

“No.  It’s New Directions only.  You’re a Warbler.”

Kurt slinks back into his chair, legs crossed, eyebrow up.  Finn knows two things:  one, that he’s lost.  And two, he’s in trouble.

“Okay, Finn.  That’s fine.  I’m a Warbler now.  And Warblers have exacting moral standards.”

Finn grins, triumphant.  “I’m the DD.  I’m not going to drink. So there.”

Kurt examines his nails and never looks at Finn.  “Oh, dear brother, I have  _ no doubt _ that you will not be partaking in the juvenile festivities inherent to teenage drunkenness tonight.  Your vices lie...elsewhere.”  Kurt looks at him sideways as a slow grin spreads across his face.  “How disappointed would your dear mother be if she knew what kinds of depraved things you do to yourself in front of the family computer?”

Finn feels numb.  “You wouldn’t”

“Wouldn’t I Finn?  Wouldn’t I  _ just _ ?  Poor Carole.  Typing out cheery emails to your Auntie in the nursing home...one click away from ‘Horny Cheerleaders’?  Or--god forbid--’MILF Academy’?”

Finn’s flailing now.  “Yeah, well...maybe I should tell your dad to take a look at your laptop.  How about that?  I bet he could find something pretty interesting on there, huh?”

Kurt blinks innocently.  “The most offensive thing you’ll find on there is this year’s Miu Miu collection.  Hip bows?  _ God _ .  Although the Lily of the Valley dress was nice...”

“Fine,” Finn grumbles.  “You guys can go.  But don’t, like, spy or anything.”

But Kurt’s already on the phone.

~*~

It seemed like a good idea at the time.

Go out.  Have a few wine coolers.  Take the edge off the tension that had been building between him and Blaine ever since the Valentine’s disaster.  Except now Kurt’s kind of drunk and Blaine is, like, whoa.   _ Drunk _ .  Kurt keeps having to remind himself that, okay, Blaine thinks he’s into him, so Kurt shouldn’t be a douche and lead him on by sitting in his lap or letting Blaine fling his arms around him and talk right into his ear in a way that makes him sort of shivery.  He’s so, totally not going to do that.  Anymore.  Starting...now.

Which is just about the time Rachel slurs “SPIN THE BOTTLE!” into her bedazzled microphone.  So Kurt splits the difference and drags Rachel down in between himself and Blaine, as kind of friend barrier between them and their seriously-pushing-the-limits-of-the-definition-of-’friendly’ hugging.

So people kiss.  And it’s sort of hilarious how bent out of shape Santana gets.  And it’s  _ really _ hilarious how much Puck and Mike mug and fuss about kissing each other.  And it’s  _ super _ hilarious when it’s Blaine’s turn.

Until it isn’t.

Because the bottle’s pointing to him.

Kurt is suddenly one hundred per cent sober and feeling cold all over.  Blaine’s manic smile has softened into something painfully genuine and a little afraid.  It plays through Kurt’s mind in fast motion:  Blaine’s going to lean in, Blaine’s going to kiss him.  They’re going to kiss and then they’ll either be not kissing anymore or they’ll keep kissing and keep kissing and keep kissing, in the corners of the room, sprawled on the couch, in a dark room, and they’ll wake up tomorrow  _ having kissed _ and then...what?  Blaine will get over this ridiculous infatuation, except  _ they kissed _ and Kurt’s left with all these feelings he doesn’t get?  Kurt will freak out and make him stop kissing him before it gets too heated and Blaine will sulk about it and their friendship will just beover?  They’ll act like it didn’t happen, but it  _ so did _ ?

“No,” Kurt says suddenly.  “No...I can’t do this.  I won’t kiss you Blaine, I’m sorry.”

Blaine looks shocked and just blinks, “But--”

“Blaine, no, I’m so sorry.  Our first kiss can’t be like this.  I’m out.  I’m sorry.”

Kurt flees to the bar, getting himself some water.  He sees Blaine look to Rachel with something new in his eyes and say “Well then, Ms. Berry.  Care for some sloppy seconds?”

Rachel grins.  “Blaine Warbler?  I’m gonna to rock. your. world.”

They kiss way too long and way too intense.  And then they’re singing and dancing and being so happy, just being kids having fun.  Kurt sits on the piano bench and watches from the outside.  As always.

~*~

Kurt is keenly aware of the fact that Blaine is not asleep.  It’s dark, but there’s enough moonlight filtering in to glance of Blaine’s open eyes and reflect dimly through each slow blink.  Kurt’s changed in the bathroom, done every iteration of his skincare routine he can think of, straightened up his clothes, found extra blankets, and now he just doesn’t know what to do.  At some point, he’s going to have to bite the bullet and crawl into bed next to the warm, deep-breathing lump buried beneath his blankets.

Steadying himself, he timidly lifts the covers and slides in, trying to disturb his not-sleeping companion as much as possible.

“Hey,” Blaine whispers.

“Hey yourself,” Kurt answers, more gently than he means to.

“Are you mad at me?”

Kurt frowns.  “Of course not.  Why would I be mad at you?”

“Lots of reason,” Blaine murmurs.  “I embarrassed you two times with your dad and with your friends.  And because I like you and that makes you mad.”

“Oh, Blaine, no, honey, no,” Kurt soothes.  “That doesn’t make me mad at  _ all _ .  Please don’t think that.”

“Then how come you wouldn’t kiss me?” Blaine asks, turning over to his side and resting a hand on Kurt’s stomach.  Kurt tenses, but doesn’t make him stop.  The moment’s too fragile.

“I just...I just don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

Blaine scoots closer, wraps his arm all the way around Kurt’s belly, runs his hand absently up his side.  He rests his head against Kurt’s shoulder, and it feels so, so nice that Kurt lets it go.

“Rachel says I’m a really good kisser,” Blaine says into the fabric of Kurt’s pajamas.

“Yes.  Clearly.”  Kurt can feel Blaine breath against his neck and it’s starting to give him goosebumps.  He thinks he may be imaging it, be he thinks he feels Blaine move until his nose is buried behind Kurt’s ear and his lips are on his pulse.

“So...if I kissed you,” Blaine says, his tone changing.  And yes, he’s absolutely got his lips against Kurt’s skin.  “It’d be good.”

Kurt takes a deep breath and tries to shove the thoughts he’s getting away.  “No, Blaine, I think if you kissed me it’d be  _ really, really bad _ .”  

“Why?” Blaine asks, and this time there’s no ambiguity whatsoever.  He’s absolutely sucking damp, open-mouthed kisses against Kurt’s neck and it’s  _ amazing _ and  _ terrible _ .  “You’re not a bad kisser.  I can tell.  When you sing...” Blaine fingertips skim across Kurt’s lips.  “your mouth...”

Blaine is warm half atop him, kissing harder, letting his thumb drift up under Kurt’s top and he smells so wonderful and he  _ feels _ ....god, the way this  _ feels _ .  Kurt’s body is reacting in ways he really, really doesn’t want it to.  “Blaine, no,” he gasps. “Don’t do this again.”

“But we didn’t meet yesterday...” Blaine pleads and  _ his  _ body is reacting in ways Kurt doesn’t want it to, too.  Kurt grits his teeth and forces himself to move.  Inside, he feels ripped in two.  Doing what’s right, doing what’s wrong.  How it feels good, how it feels so scary.  He winds his fingers into Blaine’s hair, which makes him hum and push the rest of his fingertips up onto Kurt’s bare ribs, until Kurt pulls, bringing Blaine’s face away from him.

“Please...” Kurt whispers. “Just...just go to sleep, okay?”

Blaine’s eyes take a moment to flutter into understanding.  “I’m sorry,” he babbles.  “I’m sleeping now, I’m sorry.”

Blaine turns his back and curls deep into himself.  In moments, he’s breathing deeply and steadily, at peace in sleep.

Kurt knows he won’t be so lucky tonight.

~*~

  
  


Who ever thought up fucking mornings should be shot.  It’s Monday, two days later, and Blaine  _ still _ gets this weird heavey feeling in his stomach at the very thought of anything booze related, fruit related,  _ party _ related, or, hell.  Almost anything.  Kurt, on the other hand, has been looking fresh as a god damned daisy every since Blaine rolled out of his bed Sunday morning.  “You should probably go,” Kurt had told him with a supremely annoyed expression.  “My dad was just in here.”

“So,” Kurt says, stirring his coffee.  “How much do you remember.”

Blaine thinks for a moment, patching together what he can, throwing in an assumption or two for good measure.  “Well...we danced.  We played spin the bottle.  You were too much of a gentleman to take advantage of my drunken stupor, so I Frenched Rachel.  Then we sang.  And after that...yeah.  I got nothing until I was sneaking out your front door.”   _ And you made me feel horrible, because the thought of kissing me--even while drunk, even during a game--makes you sick, _ he doesn’t add.

Kurt nods and hums.  

“Why?  Did I miss something?  Oh god, what did I do?”

Kurt shakes his head.  “Nothing, Blaine.  That just about covers it.”

“At least I didn’t injure myself,” Blaine grins.  “What’d you do to your neck?”

Kurt touches the faint bruise on his jugular and flushes an almost painful red.  “I, uh....I tripped on Brittany’s bra.  

Blaine winces then laughs.  “Well it  _ looks _ like a hickey.  The guys are going to give you  _ hell _ today.”

Kurt’s smile is odd and weak.

Blaine’s phone rings then, an unfamiliar number.  It’s Rachel, and she calls him cute and asks him out, and...well.  Things could be worse.  Especially since Kurt’s got this incredulous, mocking face on that Blaine knows he’s just about to wipe right off.

“She asked me out,” Blaine says, sitting down with his coffee.

“Then why did you say ‘yes,’” Kurt laughs.  “You can’t lead her on.”

Blaine knows he’s headed into dangerous territory, but he just can’t care anymore.  “This isn’t leading her on. When we kissed, it felt good.”

Kurt’s face instantly flashes into anger.  “It felt good because you were  _ drunk. _ ”

“What’s the harm in going on one crummy little date?” Blaine asks, knowing he taunting now.

Kurt’s control is still in place, but barely.  He’s slipping, fast, and Blaine is getting a sick thrill watching.  “You’re  _ gay _ Blaine.”

"I thought I was, but I've never even had a boyfriend before. Isn't this the time you're supposed to figure stuff out?"  Kurt looks like he’s been slapped and Blaine feels bad for how good that feels.

"I can't believe I'm hearing this right now."

"Maybe I'm bi, I don't know…"

"'Bisexual' is a term that gay guys in high school use when they want to hold hands with a girl and feel like a normal person for a change," Kurt says, the last of his composure slipping, his rage blooming into the air between them.

"Wait, wait, wait.  Why are you so angry?"   _ Just say why, Kurt _ , Blaine thinks.   _ Please, just say it. _

"Because I look up to you. I admire how proud you are of who you are. I know what it's like to be in the closet, and here you are about to tiptoe back in."  It’s not the confession Blaine wanted, and while it’s sweet...it’s not enough.  It’s not what he needs to let all this go.

"I'm really sorry if this hurts your feelings, or your pride, or whatever, but however confusing this might be for you, it's actually a lot more confusing for me," Blaine says. "You're 100 percent sure who you are. Fantastic. Well, maybe we all can't be so lucky."

“Listen,” Kurt hisses.  “Nobody’s lucky here.  They hurt me just like they hurt you.  How can you come out of  _ that _ okay but then throw it all in over a  _ stupid girl _ ?”

“So,” Blaine says, every inch the smooth Dalton man again.  “You’re saying you can’t just...wake up one day and change your sexuality?  Really?”

“Of course not,” Kurt sneers.

“ _ Really _ ?  So, you didn’t spend years thinking that Finn might--oh hey!  Just wake up one day and change his sexuality?  What kind of hypocrite are you?”

“ _ I’m no kind of hypocrite because I never expected that from him! _ ”  Kurt’s voice is a little bit too loud.  He’s shaking so hard he has to put his cup down, and his eyes are wide and wild, shock and fear and just...something so raw and vulnerable in them that digs at Blaine, makes him even angrier.

“So you never thought he was straight?  You thought he was just a big closet case?  You thought  _ you _ were going to be the one that magically dragged him out?  Otherwise, what was the point of all that, huh?  The point of hurting us both and...and making things so complicated for  _ everyone _ ?”

The shock of his confession has allowed Kurt to pull together some of his coldness.  He’s more together, though it’s a fragile, whip stitched sort of together that Blaine knows is for nobody’s benefit.  “I don’t expect you to understand this, Blaine, because you apparently don’t  _ care _ what you do with your body, but maybe him being straight was part of the appeal.”  

Blaine is trying to understand.  He really, really is.  But this is too much of a gap out of his own experience to bridge, so he just stares, dumb, wishing for  _ something _ .  Wishing he could just stop feeling so much anger.  Wishing he could even begin to get why not being wanted is something to want.  What on earth is the point of loving someone if you just treat them like anybody else?

“I have to go,” Kurt mutters.  “Have fun on your little date.”

He leaves his coffee, and that’s when Blaine knows it’s gone too far.

~*~

The date was...fine.   _ Love Story _ sits on him, mocking, nagging him with the appropriateness of someone sweet and strong and snarky, falling into a world of facades.  Kurt’s pride and confidence and pain creeping in like the left behind scent of strong cologne.  He wonders how he went a day without it before.  Wonders how he’s going to go all the days left without it now.  If ever there was going to be something between them that couldn’t be fixed, it would be this. 

Rachel’s pretty and smells nice, like a girl.  But she can’t light him up like Kurt does.  Doesn’t even inspire the warm rush pretty boys that catch his eyes do.  So they part with a brief, perfunctory hug, and Blaine has no intention of calling her again.

~*~

When he finds  himself back at the Lima Bean, it is with the full knowledge that there’s a pretty good chance Kurt will be there.  And he is.  With Rachel.  He deserves this.

He tries not to catch their eyes, but Rachel sees him, kisses him hard, and it feels like nothing.  He bumbles out something stupid and flees to the restroom, where he’s putting together a speech.  Not for her.  For Kurt.  After far too long, he admits defeat and drags himself back into the shop to face them down.

Rachel is gone, and Kurt has taken her place.  He’s studying his bag strap with undue interest and shifting his weight back and forth nervously.  It makes Blaine’s heart clench with affection.

“Hey,” Blaine says, nervous himself.

“Hey,” Kurt answers with a small smile.

“You waited for me.”

Kurt’s eyes waver, find a point outside the window.  “Of course I did.  That’s what friends do.”

Blaine lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and feels so many parts of him let go.  “So we’re still friends?”

Kurt nods and blinks fast, fighting tears.  “Always,” he says roughly.

**Sexy**

It’s a good thing Blaine’s gay, Thomas is always saying.  Because if he weren’t, none of the other boys would have a  _ chance _ .

And frankly, it’s kind of true.  

Blaine just has a way with girls.  He’s seen them dissolve into giggles time and again, watched their subtle grins and lowered lashes, occasionally relishes the way their fingers wind into the ends of their hair and their teeth chew their lips when he flashes a cocky half-smile and wink.

Which would be awesome.

If he weren’t gay.

But, as has been firmly established, he is, and his sexy superpowers don’t really seem to extend to boys.   Not even boys who are doing...what the fuck  _ is _ Kurt doing, anyway?  He looks tortured.  Every shred of his considerable grace seems to have gotten lost on the way to the warehouse, leaving him flopping and flailing and just  _ dying _ out here in front of the girls.

When it’s over, and Blaine has done the expected gentle let-down of the girls slipping him their numbers (and did him saying he was gay make them grin  _ harder _ ?  What the hell?), he finds himself blurting “Are you alright?” to Kurt.

Kurt looks confused.

“It’s just...you kept making these weird faces...”

“Those are my sexy faces,” Kurt says, haughtiness fading.

“They looked more like you were having gas pains,” Blaine tells him.  Frankly, Blaine has accepted the fact that this isn’t going anywhere beyond whatever twisted, co-dependent friendship they have forged out of their mutual fucked-uppedness, so he may as well try to be honest.

What he doesn’t expect is the way Kurt just falls apart.  "Great! How are we supposed to get on the stage at Regionals and sell 'sexy' to the judges when I have as much sex appeal and knowledge as a baby penguin?" he sputters.

Blaine thinks for a moment, trying to reconcile the frankly overwhelming cognitive dissonance setting in.  “We have to do something.”

~*~

Blaine’s not sure how he actually wound up in Kurt’s actual bedroom, trying to work out how to be sexy, but he’s kind of pissed at Fate for making  _ this _ the one time he gets to try to coax an O face out of the guy he’s sort of in love with.  Fuck you, Fate.  Fuck you  _ hard _ .

"So give me 'sensual,'” he says, just accepting the fact that the entire universe hates him.   “But don't make fun of it; really try."

Kurt makes a face that’s kind of...actually Blaine has no idea what it is.  It’s a face that’s making him feel a little less bad about the Garage Fiasco, to be perfectly honest.  What Blaine finds most confusing, though, is the fact that Kurt is somehow managing to  _ not be sexy _ .  The boy who nearly stopped his heart looking up at him through his eyelashes at Christmas, the boy who sank with breathtaking elegance every time he sat down, the boy that Blaine had maybe thought about in every impure way known to mankind--that boy was managing to be completely and utterly unattractive right now.

After ‘sultry’ is another failure, he says, “Kurt, they’re all sort of looking the same.”

"That's because the face I'm  _ actually _ doing is 'uncomfortable,'" Kurt rants.  "This is pointless, Blaine. I don't know how to look sexy, because I don't know the first thing about sex."

That’s...okay.  That’s odd.  “Kurt, you’re blushing.”  Blaine can’t help but smile, in spite of himself.

"I've tried watching  _ those movies _ ,”-- _ Calm yourself, Anderson _ \--” but I just get horribly depressed and I think about how they were all kids once, and they all have mothers, and god, what would their mothers think, and why would you get that tattoo there?"  Kurt says, flitting around the room.

At least that’s what Blaine thinks he said.  He kind of got lost after Kurt socked him with the mental image of him watching porn. 

“Maybe we should have a conversation about it,” Blaine offers.  “I’ll tell you what I know.”   _ Or, you know, I could, like  _ show _ you... _

There’s a piece of Blaine that is acutely aware of just how much like one of “those movies” this entire absurd conversation is turning out to be.  Or it would be if Kurt weren’t completely freaking out.

"I don't want to know the graphic details.  I like romance,” Kurt says. “That's why I like Broadway musicals, because the touch of the fingertips is as sexy as it gets.  I  _ really _ don’t like being pushed, Blaine.  Even with the best of intentions." 

And that worries Blaine.  Kind of a lot.  This?  This isn’t normal.  This isn’t even  _ acceptable _ and all the things that could happen hit him, hard.  His own feelings be damned, Kurt’s not okay and this fear of knowledge he desperately needs could hurt him so, so much.

“You have to find out about it sometime, Kurt,” he says as gently as possible.

It’s clearly too much, though.  "Not today. I think I've heard quite enough for today, thank you,” Kurt says breathlessly. 

“Kurt, please--”

“Blaine,  _ no _ .  Not today and not from you.  Especially not from you,”  Blaine reaches for him, but Kurt pulls away.  “ _ This _ is why we can’t be together, Blaine.  Because you know and want these things that I just don’t know how to give you.  When I get my heart broken because I’m not sexy, I’m going to need my best friend.  What am I supposed to do if  _ he’s _ the one that broke it?”

“I could never--”

“Blaine, please,  _ please _ just go.”

Blaine does as he’s told, but spends the drive home with a knot in his stomach and the realization of how very wrong he’s been about so many things creeping into him like a virus.

~*~

As much as things have hurt, they really do love each other.  They text each other a hundred times a day about nothing.  The call to tell each other good night every night.  They make the other check in after long drives, know what to order each other at five different shops, spend hours on Skype, sometimes doing nothing more than watching each other do homework.  At the end of the day, for as different as the forms it takes for each of them are, he loves Kurt and knows by the way Kurt’s able to flash through his anger and embarrassment and his gentleness that Kurt loves him, too.

Love makes you stupid.  Love makes you brave.

Love makes you walk back into the place you were the most humiliated, the most hurt, the most rejected with your chin up and your hands shaking.

“Need a hand?” Blaine asks, so much more steadily than he feels.

Burt eyes him for a long moment.  “Yeah,” he says, mocking.  “Why don’t you hand me that carburetor?”

When Blaine hands it over, Burt looks surprised.  

“My dad and I rebuilt a ‘59 Chevy one summer as some kind of bonding ritual.” 

Burt nods and is silent for a long moment.  “Why are you here?” he asks at last.

Blaine lets a beat pass, until he can be sure his voice won’t crack and he won’t be sick.  “I...I want to talk to you about Kurt.”

Burt’s eyes narrow and focus in on Blaine.  It’s that same, terrifying, soul-piercing stare Kurt’s trained on people, but that Blaine’s never had the misfortune of earning himself.  “Have you ever talked to Kurt about sex?” he asks in a rush.

Burt draws in a hard breath and looks away in anger.  Blaine squeezes his eyes shut for a moment, before he reminds himself that as scary as Burt is, he’s  _ Kurt’s dad _ and he’s not going to hurt anybody.

“Why?” Burt asks dangerously.

“I’m worried about him.  He’s so terrified of even talking about it.  He won’t even listen--”

Burt drops his wrench into the car he’s working on and turns on Blaine, taking two menacing strides into his space.   “You have some nerve, kid,” he growls.  “I’m on to you.  I was there for that little stunt you pulled with your buddies here in the shop last month.  And if you think I’m going to help you seduce my son, you’ve got another think coming.  I don’t know what you thought you’d accomplish by coming in here today, telling me how to raise my kid, but you’re doing this because you want to take advantage of him and I’ll be  _ damned _ if I’m going to let that happen.”

Blaine is shaking so hard that he really isn’t sure how he’s still standing.  It’s hard to hear, it’s hard to see, and he has no idea what kind of miraculous forces well up inside him to make him keep talking.  

“I’m doing this because I  _ love him _ , Mr. Hummel” he says.   “And when I thought it might be me, I knew I would treat him well and respect his boundaries...it wouldn’t have seemed like such an emergency.  But now...I know it’s not going to be me.  And I just want him to be careful, because even though I’d be there to pick up the pieces, I don’t want to have to.  Kurt is the most moral and compassionate person I’ve ever met.  He deserves so much better.”  

He’s breathing shaky and hard, and he knows his fear is screaming itself out.  So much for suave and mature.  But Burt’s face is changing...softening just a little.

“You really do, don’t you?”  Burt asks, just a little bit in wonder.  “You really love my son.”

Blaine nods sharply.  “I do, Mr. Hummel.  And I just want him to be okay...I’m sorry if I’m overstepping.”

“You are,” Burt sighs.

A tense silence falls and Blaine waits just a second too long to avoid awkwardness before he silently turns to go.

“Hey,” Burt calls after him.  “Your dad talk to you about this kind of stuff.”

Blaine laughs bitterly.  “Uh, no.  You think my dad built a car with me because he loves cars? I think he did it because he thought getting my hands dirty would make me straight.  I had to learn from the internet.  You and Kurt have an awesome relationship.  I think it would be really cool if you took advantage of that.”

“Get out of my shop, Kid,” Burt says.  And Blaine wonders if he imagines the note of affection he thinks he hears in Burt’s voice.

~*~

**Blaine:** Can we talk?

**Kurt:** Depends.  About what?

**Blaine:** I did something today you should know about.

**Kurt:**  I know.  I kind of hate you right now.

**Blaine:** I’m not sorry.

**Kurt:** And I kind of don’t hate you, too.  Call me.

**Original Song**

Kurt Hummel wears a mark on his neck for three days.  He cups his hand there absently, not to hide it, but to remember it.  He examines it in the mirror, trying to work up anger over its presence.  He aches with every passing reminder that Blaine really, truly doesn't remember leaving it there.  But like the smell in his sheets, like the easy comfort of their first days knowing each other, it fades.  When it's gone, Kurt feels its presence like a phantom limb.

And like the mark, the days of having an uncomplicated friendship with Blaine is fading, too.  The last few weeks have been so hard for them--have paradoxically made them closer and more distant.  Kurt sees that Blaine’s shimmer has not faded at all, and it fills him with wonder.  How can Blaine pull out his heart, hand it over, watch it break, then take it back again with a shrug and the promise to try again another day?  It seems so simple for him and Kurt’s starting to wonder if his Really Mature Decisions are really that great.

Because for something that he did to keep from getting hurt, rejecting Blaine has turned out to be  _ incredibly painful _ .

The truth is, he’s getting tired.  The truth is, he thinks he’s missed his chance.  The truth is, if he’d somehow learned his way around his own heart  _ before _ meeting Blaine, things might be very different right now.

But it’s much easier to brood when you’re trying to study European History than when the doors to the common room bang open, sheet music and calculus and physics notes rain down on you, and the shiniest boy in the world is singing and hopping toward you.

Kurt tries to look annoyed, but he feels an little tingle of anticipation as he waits for Blaine to drag him from his chair and dance him down the hall as he climbs into falsetto.

Except...he doesn’t.

He grabs Mark.  A freshman.  Kurt gets a grin and a wink and left behind.

“Going back to being a solo act?” Kurt asks with a wry smile when the song is over.  Blaine just shrugs.  “We’ll see.”

Kurt wonders if anything’s ever been hard for him ever.  Blaine seems utterly at peace with “trying” equalling “success.”

~*~

The bird is dead.

He loved that damn thing, too.

Maybe love is too strong a word.  Maybe the bird just represented something.  Or maybe it’s the accumulation of garbage in his brain, making this the last straw.   _ Maybe _ he’s tired from not sleeping lately.

No.

He loved that damn thing.

He was good to it, too.  He made it clothes, fed it nice food, sang with it.  He only got sparkling water, had his cage lined only in back issues of Mlle.  Kurt even let him flutter around out of his cage from time to time until the day Finn opened the door without knocking and he got out.  It took them two hours to get him out of the kitchen.

Kurt wants to just spill his guts out everywhere in a massive, ugly display of emotion.  And why the hell not? If Blaine gets to barf his feelings all over everyone a hundred times a day, why the hell can’t  _ he _ ?  So he sets to work on an outfit and a song and a suicidal plan.  Eventually, he’s going down, one way or the other.  May as well be in flames.

~*~

He expects the Warblers to react differently to his outfit and his announcement.  He does not expect them to react  _ in _ differently.  Blaine looks at him with wide eyes and at once asks “What’s wrong?”

“Pavarotti’s dead,” he announced, chin high.  “I suspect an aneurysm.” The Warblers watch him with sympathy.  "He inspired me with his optimism and his love of song," Kurt says, tears sneaking up on him.  "He was my friend...and if I may?  I’d like to sing a song for him.  In honor of his memory.”  He hands over his mother’s cassette and sings with his whole heart.  He can’t imagine why this hurts so much.  It’s a stupid bird.  But in the somber back beats of his teammates, he begins to understand.

Dalton gave him something to treasure and to take care of.  Something that, inexplicably, needed him.  And he tried--he tried  _ so hard  _ to keep it safe, but he managed to fail somehow.  And yet...just  _ knowing _ how hard he tried makes it so much better.  That he  _ did _ give it his all--he  _ did _ pour his heart into loving that songbird--that makes it so, so much better.  He aches for his care, but it’s an ache of  _ completeness _ .  Of accomplishment.  His heart is sore like a runner’s thighs on the track again after a long injury.  It hurts and it feels amazing and it holds so much promise.

And that’s when he flubs a note.

Oh god.

Oh my  _ god _ .

Blaine’s eyes are shining with the very edge of tears as he watches Kurt with anguished concern.  He stops singing when Kurt’s voice breaks, keeps just watching, like his eyes can hold Kurt together through this and what is really, truly amazing is that  _ they can _ .  Kurt finishes somehow, strong and solid, and sits down next to Blaine, completely numb and barely breathing.  He can’t hear and his mind is racing so fast that it’s hard to catch anything more than snippets of what he’s thinking.   _ Tried.  Easy.  Blaine. _

Blaine squeezes his hand hard in sympathy, and when he tries to pull it back, Kurt doesn’t let him.

~*~

Kurt’s going to throw up.

This was a  _ bad _ idea.

Trying is overrated, really.  Whatever was he thinking?  I mean, he  _ knows _ how this is going to turn out.  He’s dicked Blaine around plenty these last few months and  _ anyway _ Blaine’s gotten to know him well enough by now that any sheen of romantic idealism has to have worn off ( _ we didn’t meet yesterday... _ ) so that Blaine  _ has _ to be seriously reconsidering his sanity for wanting to wade into the hot mess that is Kurt Hummel in the first place.

But Blaine deserves this.  He  _ deserves _ the opportunity to shoot Kurt down.  He’s so, so earned the satisfaction of watching Kurt flail at him, flounder in his ineptness, take Blaine’s gentle let-down with the aplomb Blaine afforded him.

Also, it’s too late.

“Warbler Kurt,” Wes had said with a placid smile a few hours ago.  “The council has met and considering both your exemplary performance at Sectionals and your stirring tribute to our mascot,  _ you _ will be our Regionals soloist.”

Blaine smiled like  _ he’s  _ the one that had just gotten the solo, and maybe  _ that _ is what made Kurt’s mouth outrun his brain.

“No,” Kurt said, shocked himself.  “No, I don’t want to.”

The gasp in the room would have been hilariously fake-sounding if Kurt weren’t internally losing  _ all of his shit _ right then.

“Kurt?” Blaine asked. 

“Warbler Kurt,  _ why _ ?” gasped Thad.

“Diva,” muttered someone. Tracy?  Carey?  Some girl name douche.

“I...I don’t want a solo.  I want to sing with Blaine,” he blurted and  _ what the hell? _  “He’s...I’m not ready to lead you.   _ He _ deserves this.”  Kurt looks at Blaine and says softly, to him, “I want us to do this together.”  Blaine was dumbstruck, face confused and unreadable.

The council conferred softly for a moment.

“Kurt,” said David.  “This is highly irregular.  In the history of the Warblers, a solo has only been turned down twice.  However, we greatly admire your sense of fair play and your own limitations.  All those in favor of a duet for Regionals?”

All hands (except that one guy’s) shot into the air.  Some apathetically, a few, like Jeff’s, with truly undue enthusiasm.  Kurt could not believe he’d just  _ given up a solo _ ...until he saw Blaine’s smile.  Then he could  _ totally _ believe it.

“Kurt?”

Kurt startles and drops his glue, snapping back.  Common room.  Casket.  Blaine in the doorway.  Right.

“Hey,” Kurt says as casually as possible.

“I’ve been looking for you,” Blaine smiles.  “Thought about our song?”

Kurt fidgets as Blaine sits next to him.  “Yeah.  Um...’Where is My Mind,’ by Yoav and Emily Browning.  It’s from---”

_ “Sucker Punch _ .  You hated that movie.”

Kurt shrugs.  “You didn’t.”

Kurt’s heart is trying really hard to get his brain to tell his mouth to man up and say it.   Now.  Right now.  On three.  One.  Two.  Two and a half...  Okay for real--

“Why?” Blaine asks simply.

“Why what?” Kurt hears his voice shake, sees his hands shake even harder.

“Why did you pick that song for us?” Blaine asks...and his voice is shaking, too.

“Because I--” and he can’t speak.  He literally cannot get his mouth to make words anymore.  He thought he could be brave.  He thought he could just leap and take the risk and take the consequences. He can’t.

“Because I think it really showcases our ranges and works with them.  Plus, it’s not so Top 40.  The Warblers could use some shaking up.”

Kurt doesn’t realize it until he sees it go out, but that glow he’d so adored in Blaine had been his ceaseless optimism.  That light shatters, scatters, sparkles and fades, at last, for the first time.  After everything, it’s  _ this _ that breaks him.

“Okay,” Blaine says hoarsely.  “Okay then.  I’ll...I’ll start arranging it.”

He turns to go, and in the curve of his shoulders, the weariness, the defeat, Kurt sees himself.  Sees the person he doesn’t have to be anymore because of Blaine.  Kurt may be a coward, but he’s not  _ cruel _ .

“Wait,” he calls, standing, but just barely.  Blaine stops in the doorway, turns slowly.

“Ask me again.”

Blaine looks confused and wary.  “What?”

“Why I chose that song.  Ask me again.”

Blaine sighs.  “Why did you pick that song for us, Kurt?”

Everything blurs.  “Because I don’t know what I’ve been thinking,” he chokes, and is crying before he even finishes saying it.

Blaine just stands there, looking at him like he wants to go to him but just can’t bring himself to cross that distance again.

“There was--” Kurt stops to breathe for a moment, and to wipe the sleeve of his cardigan across his face like a child.  “There was  this...this kind, compassionate, brilliant,  _ gorgeous _ boy who actually  _ wanted _ me, and I pushed him away.  Over and over.  These are not the actions of a sane man, Blaine.”

Kurt knows that look.  The one where you’re fighting down your hope, holding the optimism at bay because it’s hurt you so much before.  Kurt knows that look because he’s seen it on his own face so many times.  But never on Blaine’s.  And he never wants to see it again.  He closes the space between them, tentatively takes Blaine’s hands in his.

“You  _ amaze _ me, Blaine.  The way you can open yourself up to people.  Your strength.  The way you see things in me  _ I _ didn’t even know were there.  I’ve know for a long time that you couldn’t stand to see me get hurt.  Doing ‘Blackbird,’ this week...that’s when I realized...that that means  _ you’ll never hurt me _ .”

Blaine’s biting his lips hard, eyes going a little damp.  Once he’s started, though, Kurt can’t stop.  It’s so painful and so good to finally be saying this--to finally be  _ feeling _ this.

“I don’t know if you still feel that way about me.  Part of me hopes you don’t because god knows I don’t deserve you.  But you deserve to hear it.  Even if it’s too late, I love you, and I’ve loved you, and it finally just hurt more to not tell you than it’s going to hurt to hear that you don’t love me back.”

Blaine stares for the longest moment of Kurt’s life.  When he speaks, his voice is harsh with emotion.  “Can I kiss you now?” he asks.

“No,” Kurt answers, and watches disappointment and confusion flicker through Blaine’s eyes for a split second before he continues, “I’m going to kiss  _ you _ .”

Despite the boldness of his declaration, he hesitates just long enough to see something like  _ elation _ light Blaine up.  When he kisses him, it’s hard but brief.  Just long enough to have done it.  To feel the lips he’d so guiltily thought about so many times against his, to smell and taste Blaine so familiar but so foreign like this.  He pulls back, a little terrified of what’s going to happen next.  Is Blaine going to laugh?  Is he going to smile?  Is he going to say it’s a mistake?

Blaine  _ tackles  _ him.  Kurt’s heard the word “glomp” tossed around before, and always thought it was a stupid thing to say.  Except now he is being  _ well and truly glomped _ and there is absolutely no other word for the way he didn’t even see Blaine  _ move _ before he found himself staggering into the wall with his eyes closed and his mouth open and his arms completely full of  _ perfect boy _ .  

For a guy who thought he was afraid of getting physical, Kurt’s sure making good use of his teeth and tongue and the word “mmm.”  Hair’s getting messy and ties are brazenly askew and Kurt had no idea that “sweet” and “dirty” could coexist within the same space.  Kind of like Mexican hot chocolate.  Cayenne and cocoa?  Surely you  _ jest _ , sir, but oooh, it’s soooo good.  Except now  there’s no sweet  _ or _ dirty because  _ where the fuck is Blaine? _

“I’m sorry!” Blaine chirps, panting and wild-eyed and looking horrified.  “I just kind of attacked you and--”

_ “Oh my god, shut up!” _  Kurt gasps.  Turns out, he’s perfectly capable of tackling back.

~*~

The ephemeral hum behind them grows slowly, taking with it the rising stage lights.  Across the stage and with his back partially turned, Blaine begins, “ _ With your feet in the air and your head in the ground _ ” slow and deep.  “ _ Your head will collapse, but there’s nothing in it, so you ask yourself: Where is my mind?” _

Arranging the song hadn’t been as hard as they’d originally thought.  Cut some of the guitar wanking in the middle, play up the pretty harmonies in the beginning.  But most of all, shine a spotlight on Kurt and Blaine and their voices and how truly incredible they can be together.

Kurt knows that when he starts “ _ I was swimming in the Caribbean _ ” in his upper register that the audience is going to be startled.  That when he and Blaine sing together, sing  _ to _ each other, there are going to be people tutting and clicking their tongues and saying awful things behind their hands, but it is just not possible for Kurt to care.

They finish and they lose, but Kurt walks out of the auditorium with Blaine’s arm around his waist.  They console each other for their loss under the cover of darkness in the back row of the bus back to Dalton.  The rows ahead of them clear quickly.  Turns out kissing is  _ noisy _ .

When Blaine starts gently biting his neck, he remembers how it felt before.  So good and so scary.  It’s the same now...except Kurt knows that if the scary ever outweighs the good, all he has to do is tell Blaine to stop and...that’s it.  Blaine stops, they try again later, nobody’s hurt or angry or sad or  _ anything _ , and they’ll both be just fine and still together.  He can’t fathom why he thought romantic, chivalrous Blaine would ever be any other way.

However.

Telling Blaine to stop seems like the dumbest idea in history right now.  Because it turns out that there’s this whole  _ planet _ of difference between imagining some nameless, faceless, sweaty hairy dude waving something vaguely menacing at your face in a seedy club and imagining  _ Blaine Anderson _ rolling back his eyes and whimpering with his hands all twisted up in your bedsheets.  Which is probably actually going to happen someday.

Whoa.

In the middle of thoroughly tasting the tendons under Kurt’s left ear, Blaine suddenly giggles.

“What?” Kurt asks, possibly offended.

“Nothing,” Blaine laughs. “It’s nothing, seriously.  You’d kill me.”

“ _ What? _ ” Kurt asks again, a little dangerously.

“Well, I just...”  Is he seriously blushing?  No way.  “Um.  Ever since the party, when you tripped and hurt your neck...I’ve uh...I’ve kind of not been able to think about anything but putting a  _ real _ hickey there.  I know.  Real mature.”

Kurt snickers.  “Yeah...about that.”

~*~

You know you’ve found a true gentleman when he’ll bury your week old dead bird for you while you hold a rose and cry prettily.

“Farewell, sweet prince,” he sighs.

“Reminds you of your mom’s funeral, huh?” Blaine asks, sympathetically.  Ah, there’s his Blaine.  So earnest.  So inappropriate.

“A little.  But the coffin was bigger.  Mostly I’m just upset about losing Regionals.”

“Hey,” Blaine reassures him.  “Competition season is over, but we’ll still perform.  Nursing homes.  Theme parks.  Jiffy Lubes.”

“Yeah, I just really wanted to win.”

Blaine nods.  “I know.  Losing sucks.”

Kurt smiles at him and offers his hand.  “We didn’t win...but I certainly don’t think I  _ lost _ .”

As they link their fingers and walk away together into the afternoon, Kurt feels a momentary pang of regret for having taken so very long to get here.  He wishes, for an instant, that he could go back and fall in love on the staircase, when Blaine first took his hand.  That they could have spared themselves these months of trials and pain and missed connections.  But then again, could he have been so sure?  Without seeing what they could get through with only half their hearts at stake, would the sun feel so bright, would their easy confidence be so complete?

Maybe, Kurt thinks, it couldn’t have been any other way.

**Epilogue: Born This Way**

Down the stairs, through the foyer, into the commons.

Blaine’s gone this way a thousand times and he’s only really thought about it twice.  Once, back in November, when someone extraordinary happened, and today, the first day at Dalton without him.

Down the stairs, through the foyer, into the commons.

It’s hardly the end of anything.  As of noon, Kurt will officially be back at McKinley.  No farther than he’s ever been, no farther than he was in the time Blaine spent running back and forth  _ before _ he came to Dalton.  Still, though, Blaine misses taking this trip from English to Chemistry and catching first Kurt’s eyes then later his hand as Kurt ascended from Art to French.

Down the stairs, through the foyer, into the commons.

There’s far more traffic today than usual, and everyone is moving much faster.  And...that’s Thomas.  Heading  _ down _ .  Thomas has only second floor classes until lunch.

“Hey!  Thomas!” Blaine calls.  “What’s going on?”

Thomas grins.  “Warblers!”

“But  _ I’m  _ a Warbler,” he mutters, scowling.

Down the stairs, though the foyer, into the...commons?

Everyone is in there.  Everyone.  The Warblers are in a tight formation, with Wes and David out front.

“Warbler Blaine,” Wes begins.  “We know that it is highly unconventional to plan an impromptu performance without our lead singer.  However, these are highly unconventional circumstances.”

“We know this is a tough day for you,” Thad continues with a silly grin.  “So we thought we’d do something to cheer you up.”

Stacy mutters something about a blowjob and Nick kicks him hard enough to making him trip.

“Ready?” David asks.  “And--”

The boys climb into a sudden, dramatic scale and pause as a disembodied voice, high and rich, sings from behind them, “ _ Where the boys are, someone waits for me _ .”

The Warblers part as Kurt stands slowly from a bench.  Blaine drops his bag.  He’s smiling so hard that it  _ hurts _ .

“ _ A smiling face, a warm embrace, two arms to hold me tenderly _

_ Where the boys are, my true love will be _

_ He's walking down some street in town and I know he's looking there for me.” _

Kurt walks to him, both hands out.  Blaine takes them and tries not to cry.  He always thought he’d be the one doing the singing.  He never would have imagined this.

_ “In the crowd of a million people, I'll find my valentine _

_ And then I'll climb to the highest steeple and tell the world he's mine.” _

Kurt walks them out, backward, leads him down the hall and halfway up the stairs.

_ “Till he holds me I wait impatiently _

_ Where the boys are, where the boys are _

_ Where the boys are, someone waits for me” _

There they are.  The only place in there world where they could do this and be safe.  The only place in the world where a boy can hold his hand in front of everyone and sing to him like he loves him.

_ “Till he holds me I wait impatiently” _

Kurt steps down so they’re even, singing softer and softer.

_ “Where the boys are”  _ Blaine’s heart is racing and the tiny bit of embarrassment he feels is nothing compared to the giddy joy of Kurt, so afraid of being like this such a short time ago, throwing himself out there for  _ him _ .

_ “ Where the boys are”   _ Everything else is fading away.  It’s them and the light through the rose window and a staircase and nothing else in the world.

_ “Where the boys are”   _ Kurt sings the final line with flourish and power and tears in his eyes.  Blaine realizes he’s crying a little, too.

_ “Someone waits for me”   _

The Warblers bring down the ending notes slowly, gently and Kurt mirrors their tone as he leans in a little and slowly, gently, kisses Blaine.  It’s brief and it’s chaste, but it’s met with cheers and catcalls (and a gagging noise--Blaine’s pretty sure he knows who it is though and  _ there will be consequences _ ) and the realization that  _ this just happened _ .  A boy just sang to him and kissed him and is now turning a furious color of red in front of 200 of his friends.   _ With backup _ .

“Told you she was in my range,” Kurt says with an unsteady, nervous laugh.

Blaine just hugs him as hard as he can.  “This is the best goodbye ever.”

“I’m  _ never _ saying goodbye to you,” Kurt chokes back.

And Blaine knows, finally, that it’s true.

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Here it is, by request. Thanks to all y'all who wrote me asking to have it back after so long.


End file.
